


A Puzzle Just For Me

by neroli9



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Mobtale, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, BDSM, Biting, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dominant Sans, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Face Slapping, Human fetish, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knock Knock Jokes, Monster sex, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Fantasies, Rough Sex, Somnophilia, Spanking, Stalking, can you call it a slow burn if there's sex in chapter one, degradation kink, flowey is not the anomaly, limited sans POV, rather limited action for being a gangster AU story, reader is female, really not kidding about that explicit rating, so if that's what you want come back in a year, sort of slice of life in that there's eventually sex then jokes and cookies, the last two won't happen for dozens of chapters though, three piece suits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 237,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6776461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroli9/pseuds/neroli9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The resets keep happening, but Papyrus is gone. Nearly six years of grief have warped Sans, causing him to risk his soul with self-destructive behavior and making him all but unrecognizable to his old friends. Any day now, he expects a reset that will bring him far enough back in time to reunite with his brother and erase his sins. In the meantime, he'll distract himself with Muffet's new call girl...</p>
<p>You need a lot of money, right now. Unlike the majority of humans in the slums of New Ebott, you don't have any anti-monster prejudice, and you're kinky, submissive and enjoy sex. You've heard someone like you can do very well for herself, catering to monsters. Now here you are with your first client, a skeleton monster in a suit offering you a drink from a hip flask...</p>
<p>Undertale gangster AU with a 1930s-era American aesthetic, essentially because I like the clothes. Status updates and story chatter at <a href="http://neroli9.tumblr.com">http://neroli9.tumblr.com</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. blood filled with magic (explicit)

There'd been a gleam in Muffet's compound eyes this morning as she promised to keep you busy; she certainly does move fast, you think as you look out the window. The very same trait that you don't appreciate at all about most spiders is most welcome in this case. Were human girls in that much demand, that she'd been able to book you that very night? Your taxi driver is a monster, which means he passes the intricate booby traps that ring the edges of each district with ease. It's the only uncomplicated thing about the arrangement. Human-driven taxis can't go to the monster districts, and Muffet warned you that being frequently picked up by a monster-driven taxi would open you up to harassment, so you had to take two taxis just to get to your destination. She'd laughed that affected laugh and patted you on the shoulder with one of her legs as she promised the money would be worth it.

You'd felt uneasy when you first drove through the monster districts to your interview with Muffet this morning, simply because of how dark it was. The floating city known as the surface looms immediately above both the five monster districts and the thick, low layer of clouds that constantly blocks the better part of the sunlight to the whole underground. The human part of New Ebott is gloomy enough, and humans consider the monster districts to be located in the underworld's least desirable real estate. You'd never been further than the border where the barriers and traps are located, and you found it hard to envision anything being able to live in this endless twilight. But once the car continued into the heart of the district, the twinkling lights edging the streets and outlining the buildings made the area look more cheerful than the run-down neighborhood where you live. 

The hotel you arrive at is nice by human standards; when you pictured a monster hotel, you had envisioned something much more seedy. You didn't grow up with anti-monster prejudice, and when you encountered it, you rejected it. Still, the attitude most underworld humans have toward monsters must have affected your perception of how they live. You find the right door, your stomach in knots. You hesitate before you knock. You hadn't known what you were in for with Muffet, which had been a rather unpleasant surprise for an arachnophobe like yourself. This time, at least, you know what kind of monster your client will be, but you're not sure if that helps or not. Well, this is the best of a number of bad options... Almost six years ago, someone predicted that you'd wind up like this. You're grateful he'll never know he was right.

A skeleton monster opens the door. He's shaped like a barrel and wearing a pinstriped vest and pants, a shirt and a tie. His sleeves are pushed up to the elbow, revealing his arm bones. He's so short that your breasts are about at his eye level, although he's looking up rather pointedly at your face. His head is more rounded than a human's skull, and he's grinning, revealing that his canine teeth are more like fangs. His wide eye sockets are rendered slightly less forbidding by a cartoonish dot of light in each one. 

Muffet had told you your client would be a skeleton monster. This made you feel better at the time, because you'd actually met one before and you felt like you knew what to expect. Still, now that you're facing him, you picture kissing his skull, touching his cold bones, having his knobby pelvis pressing down on you... and you start to feel creeped out. You hope your reaction doesn't show on your face, as you'd hate to start your career by offending your first client.

"heya. c'mon on in," he says. His default expression seems to be a wide grin, but the bone around his mouth moves as he talks. Is it... stretchy? You suppose you'll find out soon enough. The room is fairly nice, with gaudy pictures of wildly idealized surface gardens hung on the walls. He takes your coat and hat and hangs them up in the closet, although his own overcoat and suit jacket are tossed carelessly on the dresser. Without your coat, you feel exposed in a dress that you hope doesn't look too obviously homemade. You worked it up in a rush, but any imperfections should be overshadowed by how good it makes your breasts look. "name's sans. and it's..." He gives your assumed name. "right? thanks for coming by," he says, as if he hadn't effectively ordered you off a menu. 

"A pleasure to meet you," you say, hoping that your smile seems genuine. 

He looks you up and down quickly enough that you feel like you're being assessed rather than ogled. 

_* she intrigues me. have we done this before, and it was reset away? could be she's just my type._

Then he raises his eyebrows -- or rather, the ridge on his skull where his eyebrows would be, if he had any. "it's your first time, isn't it? doing this."

"Oh... What gave it away?" You look down at yourself, feeling self-conscious. Makeup not dramatic enough? Heels too short? Is a dress patterned with little birds and polka dots somehow not suitable for a call girl? The human taxi driver had leered at you, but the monster one barely seemed to notice you -- apparently scantily dressed female humans weren't appealing to every monster.

"nah, you look fine. it's not that. just... eh, lucky guess, let's say. as long as i'm making lucky guesses... suppose muffet gave you a test run?"

You nod. Muffet had required proof that you were able to sleep with a monster; she'd said that even openminded human women who were attracted by the money often found the reality of being with a monster too unsettling. It had been a memorable morning. Even after a shower, you could still smell traces of her faintly sweet magic on your skin, and you'd disguised it with vanilla perfume.

"so at least you've been with a monster before. and if she took ya on... starting to wonder what she meant, when she said she had something interesting for me."

"If I'm not what you were hoping for --" As if he was hoping for an inexperienced, money-grubbing human in homemade underwear.

"nah. i like interesting." There's a gleam in his eye - or his eye socket, you suppose. What the hell did you get yourself into? "so. need me to walk you through things?"

You nod. About the only part of this you know how to do is the sex, you think. But up until this morning, it's all been with humans. And how similar is a spider monster going to be to a skeleton monster?

"payment up front. don't ever let anyone talk you into taking it afterwards. 's over there." He nods to the dresser, where there's an envelope. You pick it up and slip it into your purse. He shakes his head. "count it. it's smart, not rude."

You open it, counting the bills and mentally translating your share into what percentage of your overdue bills they'll pay. You frown. There's more than you expected; is this some sort of test? You look over at him, saying "I think you've overpaid me."

"it's a tip."

"Is that... all right?"

"yep. over and above what you need to give to muffet. all yours."

You can't help but smile, and this time you mean it.

"That's very generous of you. Thank you."

He shrugs. "it's just money."

Just money, he says. Easy to say when you have it. The way he's throwing money around and what he's wearing point to his being a gangster. Muffet had mentioned that each of the five monster districts was controlled by a different gang or family, just like there were human gangs constantly fighting for control of the rest of New Ebott, and a large number of her regular clientele was connected to one or another of them. You glance again at the jacket on the dresser and spot the edge of a leather strap peeking out from underneath it -- a holster, you realize. Guns make you twitchy, and you look away quickly. He doesn't fight with magic? His suit is perfectly tailored, and you start to feel awkward about your own clothes. But nothing about what he's wearing seems to point to any particular gang affiliation -- no colored ribbons on his hat, and his accessories are all understated. Maybe the monster gangs didn't signify membership the same way that the human gangs do?

"with that taken care of... ya want a drink? might help calm your nerves."

A drink? Well, it's not like what you're doing isn't illegal to start with. Still, you were hoping you were doing a better job of hiding your anxiety. Accepting alcohol from a strange monster doesn't seem like a great idea, even a strange monster who's minutes away from seeing you naked. "No, thank you," you say. 

"well, then. make yourself comfortable," he says, gesturing to the bed. "keep your clothes on, though." He takes a hip flask from his pocket and takes a swig. You expect to see it go right through his body and soak his pants, cartoon-style, but nothing happens. You sit on the edge of the bed, feeling awkward as hell, and he joins you. "so. you might have slept with muffet, but odds are this is gonna be a different experience. if you're feeling uncomfortable about something, i want you to tell me. i'll always stop. we'll regroup, figure something else out. if sleeping with a skeleton turns out to be too much for ya, i'll call you a cab. pay's the same either way. suppose she also told you, i can't knock ya up, right?"

You nod.

"anything else you want to know?" You do have a question, but feel awkward about asking it. It must show on your face, because he grins. "s'all right. you won't offend me." 

"I was wondering... can you feel it when I touch you?"

"ah. the skeleton thing is throwing you off?" He holds his hand out in front of him and studies it. It's not quite what you expected; the bones in the palm are mostly fused together, making it look more like a human's hand than a human skeleton's hand. All the little differences only make sense, you think, since he's a monster with the shape of a human skeleton, not an animated corpse. "they're not like human bones... i'll feel it. you can't break me, either, even if you tried. what else?"

"Have you been with a human before?"

He shrugs, but he looks amused. "i know what to do with ya."

Maybe it was a stupid question, you think. It's not as if he was surprised to see you waiting outside his door.

"That's all," you say. You figure you'll learn the rest as you go.

"right, then. one last thing... i don't want you to hang around once this is done. nothing personal."

"I understand," you say, nodding. Some clients paid for the sex, and some paid so that you'd go away afterwards; that was something Muffet had told you during the pillow talk that had ensued after you made her come so hard all eight of her legs had been twitching in a most distressing way. Evidently this guy was in the second category.

"well," he says, eyeing you. "i'm not gonna go easy on you. so you remember what i said, about telling me if you need to stop." This is it, then, you think. About to have sex with a skeleton for money. It's not what you expected to be doing with your life.

He puts his arms around you and crushes your body to his, pressing his mouth to your lips. He's so short that you have to angle your head down. He doesn't have lips, and the bone is smooth and surprisingly warm -- much more pleasant under your mouth than the chilly bones that you'd imagined. It must be because he's made out of magic, which is another bit of trivia you picked up from Muffet. Kissing you know how to do, and you link your arms around his neck and return the kiss. Without breaking the connection, you shift around so that you're straddling him. His tongue pushes into your mouth, searching out yours, and you catch your breath -- since when do skeletons have tongues? Magic tongue, probably, you tell yourself. Like magic bones. You decide to just go with whatever weirdness this turns into, because it can't possibly be stranger than fucking Muffet. 

However he might be manifesting a tongue, he's kissing you almost exactly how you like to be kissed. Then he brings a hand to the top of your head, grabbing a section of your hair. You tense up, and he breaks off the kiss, looking up at you.

"you want me to pull, don't ya." His voice is almost unbearably smug.

"Yes," you admit in a whisper. 

He tugs your hair sharply at the roots while he presses his other hand down on your lower back and continues to kiss you. Well. Now he's doing it exactly how you like it. You whimper, pressing yourself to him, and he pulls back, chuckling.

"i had a feeling you liked it rough too. wasn't wrong, was i."

"No," you answer, your scalp tingling.

He runs his hand through your hair as he starts to nuzzle and lick your neck. His other hand undoes the hook at the top of your dress, then finds the zipper and pulls it down your back. He takes the opportunity to feel you up, and you shift underneath his touch, pressing your ass into his hand. His tongue teases the sensitive skin at your neck, and he chuckles to himself. You grind down harder, your heart beating rapidly. 

His unfamiliar body intimidates you, and you try to calm yourself. It's just a skeleton, you think. Everyone you've ever slept with has had one. He seems a little too smug about having the upper hand, and you start to push back. You layer kisses on his cheekbone and caress the back of his skull, loosening his necktie and undoing a button on his shirt so you can lightly touch his collarbone. It's hard to get used to the feeling of bone under your fingertips, and you wonder if he's getting anything out of your efforts. But his kisses become more intense on your neck and shoulder, and he slides his hand down to your thigh, slipping it underneath your skirt and pressing his palm on the bare skin above the top of your stocking. There's a sudden warmth there, and you feel as if the skin underneath his hand has suddenly become more sensitive. You tense up.

"what? ya weren't wondering when the magic part was going to kick in?" he whispers in your ear. "look."

You look down. A thin, shimmery blue haze seems to be surrounding his hand, swirling and settling on your skin. Where it touches you, it stimulates your skin, and you sway your hips, your eyes open wide. "It's... lovely," you say, starting to smile. Prettier, and more delicate, than the murky purple magic Muffet had applied to you earlier.

Muffet had told you that monsters' bodies were so different from those of humans that they didn't have genitals the way humans did; rather, they used their magic as well as their bodies to please themselves and their partners in bed. She'd went on to tell you that this was entirely unconnected to making babies -- then laughed at how your eyes lit up. She'd said that the two basic uses of magic in bed were spreading it out and using it to stimulate one's partner's body, or gathering it in one place and shaping it in different ways. How much magic could be used in this way or how well it could be shaped was dependent on innate magic ability and practice. Being a powerful and experienced monster herself, she'd shaped a stylized vulva, then a phallus shape, to demonstrate to you. It really had been a memorable morning. You wonder what this guy likes to do with his magic -- something about the way it feels on your skin makes you wonder if he's more powerful than Muffet.

"feels pretty good too, yeah?" he says, his expression satisfied. You swallow and nod. "now, let's just..." He takes the hems of your dress and slip in both hands and slides them up around your waist. You raise your arms, and he pulls both garments over your head in one quick motion, tossing them to the ground and leaving you in your underthings and heels. He narrows his eyes as he looks at your bra. "never did like these things," he grumbles as he reaches around you and undoes the fasteners. He slips that off, too, and the cold and arousal hardens your nipples. He regards you with satisfaction. "you've got great tits. on your back, girl."

You lay back on the bed, stretching and arching your back as you wonder what's coming next. He climbs on top of you, resting his weight on you and licking your breast, running his tongue around the nipple then stimulating it directly. One hand cups your other breast, and his magic surrounds it, heightening the intensity. You squirm underneath him, moaning softly, and reach for the buttons on his vest, undoing them slowly -- you hope that come across as feeling seductive, but it has more to do with nervousness. When you undo the last one, his tie drops down against your chest. He sits up, straddling your hips, and pulls off his tie and vest, tossing them on top of your dress, then leans back over you as you start unbuttoning his shirt, gradually exposing his sternum and rib cage. Finally, his shirt gapes open, fully revealing his bones. He sits back up, shrugging his suspenders over his shoulders, but pauses before taking off his shirt. "you okay so far?"

"I'm fine," you answer, nodding.

He grins. "just checking. i know this is a little weird for humans."

A little is understating it, you think as he takes off his shirt and throws it with the rest of the clothes. But you're also starting to feel curious about how his body works. Might as well go for it, you think as he leans back over you, and you reach out to his spine, lightly touching one of the knobbly vertebrae near his waist with your fingertips. He catches his breath -- or whatever, you think, since you're not seeing any lungs in there, but you're trying not to question any of this too much -- and caresses you with more intensity, trailing his hands up to your shoulders and holding them tightly. He returns to kissing your neck as you run your hands over each vertebrae, through the inside of his ribcage and right up to his neck. You have your whole forearm in his ribcage, now, and you feel tension in his body as he nibbles at your skin and presses his fingers even more strongly into your shoulders.

"god, that feels good," he gasps. That's my job now, you think, grinning. You circle one of his rib bones with your thumb and forefinger and slide your hand over it, making him shudder. While you explore the inside of his rib cage, you bring your other hand to the top of his pelvis, grabbing it as tightly as he's holding your shoulders. He bucks under your hands, and you feel your shoulders and chest light up with his magic. It feels fantastic, like you're being caressed all over. You can get used to this, you think. You start to undo the buttons on his pants, and he shifts off of you so he can remove them, pulling off his shoes and socks at the same time. He rejoins you, straddling you and looking down at you with what you think is curiosity. Okay, you think. Now you're in bed with a naked skeleton. It's quite a way to start your new career.

"last time i tried this, the gal could barely touch me," he says, his voice low. "but you're a natural, aren'tcha?"

You feel some sympathy for this girl, whoever she was, but that's hardly what he wants to hear. So you go for the positive. "I'm surprised you're so warm," you say in your darkest, breathiest voice. "And you feel so strong..." 

You explore his pelvis with your hand, feeling the smooth bone. It moves under your hand, and he makes a low grunting noise, his finger bones pressing into your skin. "you really are getting into it. you dirty fucking human."

You gasp slightly and grind your hips into his pelvis. So he likes that kind of degrading talk, you think. So do you, although you've never heard 'human' used in this situation. Still, the hard edge in his voice means that he could call you just about anything and it'd turn you on. 

His eyes widen, and he chuckles. "a little name-calling gets you going, huh? starting to see what muffet meant, calling ya interesting."

"You said you liked interesting," you remind him, pressing down on the back of his ribcage and letting your fingers slip from bone to bone.

"oh, there's no doubt about THAT," he says, bringing his hand to your scalp and winding your hair around his fingers, guiding your lips to his mouth for another deep kiss. He presses his other hand to your waist, bony fingers digging into your flesh and magic feathering up and down your side. You caress his shoulder bones and arms as you start to lose yourself in the kiss, closing your eyes and focusing on the sensation of his bone pressing onto your lips, his tongue penetrating your mouth. He pulls away from the kiss and starts to press his mouth to your cheek, then your jaw. Without lips, it feels like you're being nuzzled, and you smile. He touches the apple of your cheek with his mouth and makes a low, satisfied noise. "god i love how soft you human women are."

"I've never felt anything like you," you reply, running your fingers lightly over his cheekbone. It's not precisely a compliment, but he's the one who essentially complimented you on being a human. He smiles, showing his rather interesting teeth, and you feel the bone move under your touch. 

He returns to your neck, kissing and licking it as you caress his skull. "curious 'bout my teeth, aren't ya?" he says, amusement in his voice. "bet you're wondering what they'd feel like right about... here." 

You feel a slight pressure at the base of your neck and gasp. "How'd you know?"

"lucky guess. shall i?"

"Please," you breathe, your body tensing up in anticipation. There's a sharp pain at your neck, and you yelp, wincing. He makes a low, satisfied sound as he presses his tongue over the area. Did he draw blood? No, you think he just nibbled at you. Your neck throbs, and you cling to him, whimpering.

"sensitive little thing, aren'tcha?" He makes a contented growl in the back of his throat. "i happen to like that." He looks down at you, a challenging look in his eyes. "now. let's see how interesting ya really are. on your knees, whore." He pushes himself up off of you and gestures to the floor by the bed.

You sit up and slide onto the floor, kneeling in front of him and looking up. He sits on the bed in front of you, reaching for your face and holding your jaw in his hand. He tilts your head up so you're looking into his wide, nearly blank eye sockets and studies you for a moment. You drop your gaze, and his hand tightens on your chin. "you've got a hell of a submissive streak, huh."

"You're on a roll, making all these lucky guesses."

He grins. "don't know if i'd even call that one a guess. now..." He places his hand at the base of his pelvis, cupping it as if holding an imaginary cock. The area starts to shimmer, and your eyes widen. You've seen the process with Muffet, but his cock is coming together more quickly than the one she created did. When he's done, he's holding a semi-transparent blue cock, about average size, already fully erect. "go on," he says, letting go and gesturing to it. "give ya a minute to get used to it before i start fucking that pretty mouth of yours."

You touch it tentatively with your finger tips, then wrap your hand around it, moving your wrist up and down. It seems more like a human cock than Muffet's; has he had more experience with what those actually feel like? Although it's clearly not flesh, it acts in a similar way, with a thinner, silky layer of magic sliding over a harder core. Somehow, it feels a lot more substantial than Muffet's. You can't help but be impressed with anyone who can create such a good cock out of sheer force of will, and you smile. When you look back up at him, his expression is curious. "well?"

"You're better at it than Muffet," you tell him. That wasn't the most complimentary thing you could have said, you think with chagrin, but he slaps his hand to his forehead and laughs. 

"she was just testing you. i'm actually gonna use you. ready?"

"Not yet," you say. You bring your mouth to the tip, kissing it delicately. The head has a bit of give under your lips. You run your tongue from the tip to the base, lightly at first, then with the full surface of your tongue. You hold on to his leg bones tightly with both hands, starting to take the tip of his cock into your mouth.

He grabs a section of your hair near the scalp and pulls it sharply, guiding your head away. "didn't say i wanted a blowjob, bitch. said i was gonna fuck your mouth." He presses your head to his crotch, forcing his cock up against your lips. Your lips part and you open wide, breathing deeply through your nose as he starts to pull hard on your hair, using it to force your head up and down on his cock. Overwhelmed by pain, you can only go along with it at first, struggling to keep up. But as you get into it, you push back, stroking his leg bones and pelvis as you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and suck even harder. "fuck. you really are a natural," he gasps, and you feel him relaxing, letting go of your hair and letting you service him. 

You can't resist playing with him a little bit, and you ease up on the stimulation as soon as you sense that he's about to orgasm, bringing your lips back up to the tip of his cock and giving it a little kiss. You glance up at him, grinning impudently. He's leaning back, propped up on his arms, breathing heavily with his eyes closed. They snap open when he realizes you've paused, then narrow at the sight of your smile. "who the hell said you could do THAT?" he growls. He pushes your head back down to his cock, forcing it back into your mouth. "thinking you can tease me... i'm way out of your fucking league, girl." He gives your hair a sharp tug, for emphasis, and you whimper and squeeze your eyes shut. You feel his other hand resting heavily on your shoulder as you start sucking hard on his cock again, and his magic spreads out over your back, but seems to stop when it reaches the waistband of your underwear. "fuck, you've still got those on. c'mere." 

He releases you, the magic on your back vanishing, and you stop and look up. He lifts you up onto the bed, laying you flat on your back. He moved you as if you were nothing, you realize, and you feel nervous as you realize how strong he must actually be. Even though he said you couldn't break him, you still have an image of his bones as being delicate. 

He pulls your underwear down off your legs, getting the loose fabric caught on your high heels. "these dang things... why do you human women insist on wearing 'em?" He slides them off of your feet and tosses them to the ground, leaving you in nothing but your stockings.

"They make our legs look good," you say, wiggling your toes.

He raises an eyebrow.

_* you don't need the help, they're already LEG-endary. no... only works if you read it. sounds like crap out loud. legs like that ought to be il-LEG-al? repetitive. and still odd out loud. you're pulling my leg? uninspired.)_

_* the hell did that all come from? not only am i out of practice, she's gonna think i'm goofy if i start this shit.)_

He flips you around onto your belly. You turn your head to the side, looking at him. He's sitting next to you, studying your body. His expression is troubled.

"Do you dislike them that much?"

The troubled look is quickly replaced by a grin, and he runs his hand down your back and onto your ass. "nah. but you're just tryin' to distract me by talking about shoes. 'cause ya know i oughta spank you, for screwing with me like that." Your body tenses, and you gasp. "but... you'd be too damn happy 'bout that for it to be a decent punishment. wouldn't you?"

You nod.

"say it."

"You're -- you're right..."

"thought so. so how'bout i'll just spank you for fun." He slaps his hand sharply on your ass, and you yelp and your body jumps. You hold onto the blanket, balling it up in your fists, and breathe deeply. With no flesh padding the bones, his fingers feel like whips. Tears come to your eyes as he spanks you again, and you whimper. He chuckles to himself as he puts his other hand on your back, holding you down. He strikes you a third time, then a fourth, your body tensing up each time. You cry out as you feel his hand on your ass a fifth time and his other hand pushes down on your back, leaving you feeling helpless and quivering with stimulation.

He slides one finger over your outer labia. "spread your legs for me," he orders. You part your legs and he runs his fingers over your vulva, making you cry out softly. "wow. can't believe how wet you are." He inserts a finger into your vulva, tracing it over your labia, pressing lightly on your lower back as your hips shift around in response to his touch. You feel his magic spreading over your vulva, covering and stimulating your clit, and you gasp, pushing your head into the mattress and holding tightly to the blanket. He inserts one, then two fingers into your cunt, finger-fucking you as his magic intensifies over your clit, moving in small circles over it. The ridges of his bones are hard against your vaginal walls, and you tighten your muscles around them, arching your back.

"Oh my God," you cry out. "That feels so good..."

You hear him laughing softly. "yeah? want me to keep going?"

"Please," you breathe. But the magic vanishes, and he withdraws his fingers, resting his hand on your ass and leaning over you. You whimper and move your ass under his hand, the skin sore where he spanked you.

"what a little whore you are," he says, and you can't decide if his tone is mocking or affectionate. "you showed up here thinking you'd grit your teeth through this whole thing. look at you now... i could make ya beg, couldn't i?"

You feel blood rising to your cheeks. You close your eyes, nodding.

"you mighta guessed by now... i like to hear you say it." You feel his magic spread through your cunt and cover your ass, tingling where he spanked you. You squirm, feeling light-headed with desire, and press your ass up against his hand.

"Please fuck me..."

"didn't forget my name, did'ja?"

"Sans...?"

"good. again."

"Please fuck me, Sans..."

"no."

You make a noise that could uncharitably be described as whiny, and he laughs. "and ya wanna know why?"

"Because I didn't finish you off when I had the chance?"

"nah. that turned out pretty well, yeah?" He traces a line on your ass, and you flinch -- he must have left a mark when he spanked you.

"Then... why?"

He turns you over and straddles your chest, leaning over you. He's grinning, and his gaze is intense as he whispers to you.

"'cause i wanna fill you with my cum, feel my magic sliding down your throat. it'll run in your blood, animate your body all night. you have NO idea how hot that feels."

You swallow. It does sound pretty hot. "Will I be able to feel it too?"

He raises his eyebrows. "huh... i'm not sure. i can try to activate it... if you like."

"Please," you whisper.

"then get to work," he whispers back. You prop yourself up, open your mouth for him and take his cock into your mouth while holding on to his pelvis. He holds your head to his crotch and starts to fuck your mouth with even more intensity than before, and you breathe carefully through your nose as you stimulate his shaft with your tongue and press your lips together.

"suck harder, you little bitch," he growls, and you obey. "ahh. good girl." You feel his magic spreading over your vulva, vibrating over your clit. It enters you, filling your vagina, and you gasp, sucking his cock harder. It doesn't feel like getting fucked, but it's enough sensation that you feel the tension rising in your body. You whimper and squirm as you attempt to keep your focus on pleasuring him, and you increase the intensity of your own caresses and the movement of your tongue and lips. His hand tightens on your hair and shoulders, and he grunts, his magic engulfing your clit and filling your cunt. "come for me, human," he orders, his dark voice rough and commanding. His magic moves quickly over your clit, as if he's rubbing the clitoral hood with it, and he looks down at you, his grin cruel. 

And the tension in your body breaks and an orgasm crashes over you as he growls "that's right. that's right." You lose yourself in sensation, your vulva throbbing around the magic inside you, and he holds your head in place, his body rigid as he fills your mouth with his cum. It tastes different from what you're used to -- thinner and effervescent somehow, with a sharp, fresh taste faintly reminiscent of mint. You whimper as you lavish your tongue over his cock, letting your mouth fill with his cum, then swallow it.

His cock vanishes, as does the sensation in your cunt, and he releases you, letting your head fall back onto the pillow. What the hell? you think blankly. Must be a magic thing. He falls back on the bed next to you, his eyes closed, his bones rattling. You put your hand on his sternum, feeling what feels like a strong, quick drumbeat there, and he closes his bony hand over yours. The two of you lay together in silence for several minutes, recovering. The aftershocks from your orgasm rock your body periodically, and you whimper, while he seems to have shut down entirely. You think that he might even fall asleep, but instead he opens his eyes, looking over at you and grinning. "damn, girl. think you just blew my fucking mind."

"Yeah?" You smile, looking back over at him. Then you remember his orders from before you started, and start to feel awkward. You pull your hand away, saying "Well, I'll just be --"

"no. stay," he says, holding your hand tightly. 

"Er..." He closes his eyes again, his expression blissful, but you try to pull your hand away. You can't move it, this time. "I really should..."

"where's the fire, sweetheart?"

"You told me --"

"ah. yeah. but..."

"Sorry... I just have a feeling I ought to listen to what you said when you were still in your right mind."

He laughs at that, releasing your hand. "fair enough. it's not the last time we'll be doing this, anyway." He opens his eyes, then turns to you and winks. "for now, i'll call ya a cab." 

You climb out of bed, collecting your clothes and purse and retreating to the bathroom. Do you really feel his magic inside you? You picture it in your tummy, being carried through your body in your blood. No, you can't actually feel it, but you do have to admit that was the best orgasm you've ever had. From a skeleton monster. Who knew. You put yourself back together, straightening out the seams of your stockings, combing your hair and trying to bring some order back to your makeup. Not the last time, huh... The idea makes you smile. 

When you come out of the bathroom, he's pulled on his pants and shirt and is sitting on the edge of the bed, having another drink from his flask. "took the liberty of padding your tip," he says, handing you a second envelope.

"Oh! You didn't have to --"

"least i can do," he says, shrugging. 

_* i thought nothing could make me forget about the anomaly except for some particularly potent drugs. a better tip really IS the least i can do._

You know you satisfied him, but it's nice to have financial confirmation of the fact. You throw your arms around his neck, and kiss his cheekbone. "yeah, yeah. don't spend it all in one place," he says, but he seems pleased. "thank you for tonight."

"Thank you," you say, feeling awkward as you tuck the envelope in your purse with the first one. "Say, about your magic... will I really be able to feel it?"

"give it a few hours," he answers, raising an eyebrow. "i'll try to activate it around ten."

"Well... I think my taxi's here."

"take care of yourself," he says, nodding.

When you're in bed that night, you feel him activate the magic in your blood. It lights up your body, sending a wave of erotic energy through you. Oh my God, you think, arching your back. Monsters can do that? Your hand slips almost involuntarily to your vulva and you get yourself off. There's a second wave of energy, lighter this time, as you lay back on your bed, entirely spent. It hits you just as an aftershock from your orgasm does, making your whole body tremble, and you whimper, savoring the sensation. Did he _feel_ you orgasm? Is that why he activated the magic a second time? 

Just how soon is he going to want to do this again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here goes nothing. 
> 
> This is set in an alternate universe that's vaguely inspired by the 1930s, so when you picture Reader's underwear, imagine her at her sewing machine making [something like this](http://vintagepatterns.wikia.com/wiki/Simplicity_S612). However, as may be expected from a universe with a floating city in it, the technology isn't limited to what you'd find in that era.
> 
> Just to make sure everyone's on the same page, italicized lines that start with asterisks are Sans' thoughts.


	2. not soon enough

As a human with very little actual experience with monsters and monster life, you'd thought you'd have a hard time adjusting to the permanent night of the monster districts and you'd had some trepidation about the sex itself. Those issues turn out to be nothing compared to the problem of where to find a bathroom. You wonder if Sans chose the hotel room he did precisely _because_ it had the kind of bathroom humans would expect; on your second booking in a house in a different district, you're astonished to find nothing but a sink and a shower. You go back out and stand by the side of the bed where your client, a bear monster, is lying with a vacant smile on his face. A bear _monster_ , not a bear, as you kept reminding yourself. An average monster has intelligence comparable to that of an average human, which means that it's probable that this one is smarter than some of your exes. "Excuse me, but where can I find a toilet?"

He lifts his head and looks blankly at you. "A what?"

"Uh... A toilet? For... going to the bathroom?"

"Bathroom's right there," he says, waving at the door absently.

"But... I have to pee," you say, starting to feel anxious.

"To... pee?" He screws up his face in thought. "Uh, I'm sorry, is this some kinda human thing?"

"Uh... is it?"

"I'm sorry, I dunno much about humans," he says. "That's why I did this, you know?"

You might be selling yourself to monsters, but you're not going to pee in someone else's shower -- you do have some standards. "Never mind," you say brightly. "I'm fine." For now.

Later, your desperation overrides your reticence, and you ask the taxi driver to take you to the nearest public toilet. She laughs and drives you to a bar in the heart of the district. "You're not the first human I've driven with this problem. There's a little community of humans who live here, too. They like to hang out at this bar, so the owner put in the kinda bathroom you want. There's a spot like this in each district. Here..." She writes out a list of names, one for each of the five districts. You take it from her flipper as reverently as if she was handing you a love letter and tip her generously.

The district's humans that you find at the bar look nearly as varied as monsters themselves; several of them seem to be of indeterminate gender, and they tend to dress in a much less conservative fashion than you'd find in your neighborhood. As a matter of fact, the people in your neighborhood who have looked like this tend to move out before long. Perhaps to a district like this one, you think. The slums of New Ebott are harsh on anyone that sticks out -- as you well remember. The bar's bathroom is not as clean as you might like but you're grateful from the bottom of your heart that enough humans live in the district to support such a precious resource.

You change into the other dress you brought and tone down your makeup and jewelry considerably, emerging from the bathroom a transformed -- and relieved -- woman. You have another booking in the same district in a few hours, so you spend the time exploring the area. You buy an apple that looks like a crab from a street vendor and watch the monsters go by, enjoying your first taste of monster street food. It doesn't fill your tummy, but it leaves you satisfied somehow, and it has a fantastic, complex sweetness that's better than any apple you've eaten underground. 

Fashions here are much more casual and individualistic than the suits and dresses New Ebott humans prefer. Between the outlandish clothes and unique body shapes, you're hard pressed not to stare, and you start to wonder how you'd go about having sex with some of the less humanoid monsters, like the walking volcano or the morose-looking ghost.

You wish you had more time to get familiar with the district, but soon you return to the bar bathroom to change, then do your makeup in the taxi on your way to your next booking. Over the course of the week, this becomes your new routine: a client, some time exploring, and usually a second client before returning home.

You find that your clients fall into one of two groups. The larger of the two groups, like the bear monster, booked you because they were curious about humans. They liked to kiss and touch you, and for you to do the same with them; you got used to feeling fur, flame and feathers under your fingers and finding out where exactly each monster's erogenous zones were. But instead of gathering their magic in one place to create genitals, like Muffet had done, they spread their magic all over your body, as if they were using it to touch you all over, and -- as far as you can tell -- bring themselves to orgasm that way. After a while they shudder, cry out and go limp in your arms, their magic settling into your skin. It smells a little different, every time. You find that holding onto them, making appealing noises and wiggling around expedites the process, but not having any magic of your own, you get the feeling that you're missing something. Still, it seems to satisfy them, and you get paid the same either way. Some of them fill your vagina with magic, too, which you rather enjoy even though it's not quite the same as penetrative sex to you; some of them don't seem to know enough about human anatomy to know that's an option. 

After you're done, you usually end up answering lots of questions about humans. You slept with a female bunny monster who was appalled by the idea that any human woman could possibly _like_ for a human man to repeatedly smash some sort of wrinkly protuberance in her abdomen; she thought that monster-style sex through mingling magic was much more egalitarian. Another monster of indeterminate gender had several questions about what it was like to be sick; you thought they might have some sort of illness fetish before they explained that monsters don't get sick and they'd always wondered if it was as awful as it sounded. Yes, it is, you thought grimly; you didn't want to have that conversation, but you're nothing if not professional, and you humored them.

The rest of your clients seemed to particularly like sex with humans and exploring a human's body. They would often shape their magic into phallus forms, more like dildos than actual human cocks, and make attempts to penetrate you or have you give them oral sex. Only about half of them seemed to be as good at it as an average human guy; the others seemed to have difficulties keeping their magic from falling apart into a loose cloud. "It's not that I _can't_ shape it," one of them explained, frustrated, "it's that it's impossible to concentrate when you're sucking on it like that!" They all ended up getting off by covering you with their magic, as well -- and then some of them had even more questions about humans. You start thinking about working up some sort of brochure you can give to your clients.

Your second client on your fourth day gave you a creepy vibe from the beginning; if he'd been a human you would have listened to your gut, but you felt you might be misreading the signals because you were unfamiliar with monsters. It turned out that you had been reading them just fine: after you'd been with him for a quarter of an hour and he had his magic covering your skin, he started threatening to pull out your soul and attack you. Was he getting off on your fear or was he serious? You weren't about to find out -- you grabbed your coat and purse and fled, barely decent as you ran out of the apartment building in your bare feet, expecting your soul to depart your body the whole time. You were able to hail a taxi and convince the driver to take you all the way home. When you called Muffet to tell her about it, she was furious and swore she'd blacklist him. "I'm so sorry," she said over the phone. "I blame myself, I should have screened him more carefully..."

"I'm still pretty shaken," you say, "but at least he didn't actually do anything to me..."

"If you get another sense that someone is dangerous, follow your instincts and leave," she instructs you. "You're _far_ too valuable... I'd rather lose a client than have you get scared and quit." There's something calculating in her tone of voice; she's not telling you this because she's concerned about your well-being. Does she have some sort of plan for you? "Thank goodness you were able to flee..."

"I left all my clothes there," you say in a mournful tone. 

"I'll take care of _that_ ," she answers. "Think no more of any of it. Aside from this little incident, how are you adjusting?"

Little incident my round human ass, you think with a grimace, but you keep it out of your voice as you tell her "I think I can keep doing this." 

She laughs in her affected way. "So glad to hear it, dearie. So glad indeed."

You consider asking her if she's heard from Sans, but somehow you think that might amuse her rather too much.

On Thursday, Muffet returns the clothes you'd left during your flight two days previously, and you hand over her share of the money you've earned. With your share, you've been able to pay off every one of the substantial bills that had been piling up. If your next week goes that well too, you've got plans for that money. There's no question that the gossip that made you consider this line of work was accurate: you're making what seems to you a ridiculous amount of money. The trade-off is that most humans in New Ebott consider what you're doing uniquely degrading and obscene -- but this is only a product of anti-monster prejudice, in your opinion. Viewed objectively, what you're doing beats your other choices by a long shot. On average, your monster sex partners have been more pleasant than your human ones, and you don't think you'll be doing this all that long.

The monsters refer to the districts by number - districts one through five. Although each district is very different from the other, there seems to be some tradition of nondescript names. The former district six is a wasteland, and you run into a taboo when you try to ask why or what happened. The monsters you've been with have all been perfectly open about sex and entirely unashamed to ask personal questions about your species, but ask them why there's a gigantic ghost town next door and they forget how to communicate with a human. 

Curious, you spent one morning walking to a human library several neighborhoods away from yours and researching. You should have expected something like that, you think with chagrin. Up on the surface, fighting monsters has long been a popular sport, usually done as duels at private parties. This results in the kidnapping and sale of hundreds of monsters each year. It's a one-way trip; most monsters are killed during the duels, and should a monster manage to win against a human, they're sent to the palace for a duel, where they're bound to die. You'd known that, but not that there was a rebellion eleven years ago. A group of monsters from district six hijacked one of the aerial trams that go up to the surface, apparently for the purpose of rescuing their kidnapped friends. The attempt had failed entirely, and in retaliation, their home district had been obliterated. It distresses you, that a whole district of monsters had vanished overnight to punish an attack that made no impact whatsoever -- you hadn't even heard about it. You would have been thirteen, and your parents would have carefully sheltered you from such unpleasantness.

Today your bookings are both in district one, which is the same area where you met your first client. Thinking of Sans still gives you a little thrill; none of your other encounters has been anywhere near as fun as the time you spent with him. Does he hang around the district, you wonder? Each district is like its own little city, and you realize you're unlikely to spot him. You wonder if he'd even recognize you with minimal makeup and a dress with a neckline that goes up to your throat.

You're walking through a park, with flowers you haven't seen growing anywhere else in the underworld and thousands of twinkling, magical lights that drive away the gloom. Your favorite part of these excursions is sampling monster treats and watching monsters go by, so you buy some ice cream -- no, a Nice Cream, the blue bunny monster vendor corrects you with a friendly smile -- and locate a bench that gives you a good view of the area, tucking your gloves in your pocket while you enjoy your treat. You're continually amazed by how varied monsters are, and you wish the lighting was better. But there's something pleasant about the darkness here, and it feels like one of the nighttime garden parties you used to love. You hold your wrapper up to a cluster of lights to read it. 'Are those claws natural?' You smile, admiring your fingernails. Why yes, they are, thank you, although the nail polish color is anything but.

You freeze when you notice Sans across the park, walking with a monster woman who's a good two feet taller than he is. You can't hear them or even see them very well, but it's clear that they're arguing about something. They stop, and she puts her hands on her hips and glares at him, while he shrugs. After a few minutes, they keep walking slowly down the path. If they take the fork in the path that leads your way, you'll be finding out soon if he recognizes you with minimal makeup... but they wander the other way, still absorbed in their dispute. As they get closer, you can hear the tone of their voices, but not the content of their conversation. Not that you should want to eavesdrop, you remind yourself primly; you were brought up better than that. But you're curious about that skeleton, you have to admit to yourself -- and disappointed they didn't take the other path.

The path they're on doesn't take them right past your bench; you're separated from them by a small pond ringed by tall, blue flowers. But they're close enough, and talking loudly enough, that you can finally start to make out what they're saying.

"... you don't think we've got enough problems, you gotta go find some new ones? Four had three kidnappings yesterday. Some religious nutball dusted a dozen monsters in two, two days ago, then apparently hid somewhere overnight and took out eight more in five yesterday. Plus, Grillby's got hit by vandals last night."

All the numbers in one sentence are a little hard to follow, but you suppose monsters are used to it.

"dunno whatcha expect me to do 'bout the other districts," Sans says with a shrug. It's thrilling to hear his dark voice again, and you're momentarily distracted by remembering some of the things he said to you at your previous meeting. "they've made it clear they wanna handle things on their turf themselves. sounds like the worst ya got to complain 'bout is some broken windows. you think that's a coincidence?"

"No, but if you took the job we wouldn't even have THAT."

"see, that's the problem. i'd be bored outta my skull. you want i should catch up on some sleep out at my old station?"

"Trust me, I'd be keeping you busy --"

"'cause you loved managing me so much before, right? seem to recall ya did spend a lot of time encouraging me. encouraging me real loudly," he says with a grin.

"You were HOLDING OUT on me."

Sans stops, looking up at the other monster, holding his hands out to the side in a gesture of resignation. "look, undyne. don't think i don't appreciate what you're trying to do for me. but i'm not gonna --"

Something catches his attention, and Undyne turns to look as well. There's a human slinking through the gates of the park, scanning the area nervously. The two monsters evaluate him. "Matches the description from two and five," Undyne says in a low voice. "I'll handle this. Defending our home is too BORING for you, right?"

"enjoy. i'll take a load off, watch the fun."

There's screams and the sound of a gun firing from the front of the park, and she sprints off toward the human. You reflexively take cover underneath the bench, the rest of your Nice Cream tumbling to the ground. Your heart pounds, and you feel grateful for the low light. You can't see what's going on, but you hear the man screaming that they're all filthy hellbound freaks. 

The bench creaks, and someone knocks a shave-and-a-haircut rhythm on it. Someone whose expensive shoes don't quite touch the ground. You poke your head out, and Sans is sitting on the bench, grinning down at you. You hadn't even noticed him walking up to it. 

"Sans!" He must have noticed you too, after all -- or just wanted to check on someone scrambling to the ground.

He calls you by your assumed name. "heya. c'mon up, i won't let anything happen to ya." It seems awfully confident considering the guy has a gun, but somehow you believe him.

He reaches his hand down to you and you take it, extracting yourself from underneath the bench and sitting back next to him. He looks sharp in his overcoat and hat, you think; you've seen very few other monsters in human-style suits over the course of the week. You adjust your cloche hat and brush dirt off of your coat, stockings and purse. He offers you his handkerchief and you take it, wiping your hands clean. "Thank you," you say, shivering. You fold it into quarters and give it back to him.

He takes it, shrugging as he stuffs it into his pocket. "sorry you're getting this kinda welcome to my home district." With him next to you, you feel your body's fear responses calming down -- although a few other responses are starting to kick in. Now is a hell of a time to be remembering how he made you beg, you reproach yourself.

In the distance, Undyne is facing off with the human, a spear appearing in her hands. He points his gun at her, yelling that she's a fish-faced whore of Satan. She laughs, her hands on her hips, and makes a reply you only wish you could have heard, given the shocked look on his face.

You wince as he aims at her and fires. She doesn't even try to dodge -- monsters can't dodge in the middle of battle, you remember, feeling sick. You can't tell what's happening; you'd thought his shot connected, but she's still standing. "Did -- did he miss?"

"no, got her in the chest. but getting hurt works a little differently for us."

"Is she going to be ok?"

Sans studies the two of them. "he's had some practice fighting monsters, and his aim's not bad. but undyne's the head of the guard and she's tough as hell. it'll be over in less than five minutes." He looks over at you. "are YOU gonna be all right? i can getcha out of here."

In the distance, Undyne is sending a barrage of magical spears at the man, and he yelps and dodges, his soul flashing purple on his chest. Your curiosity is overcoming your fear of guns and worries about seeing a monster get hurt, and you say "I -- I want to see the fight, actually. And I'm safe with you, right?"

He raises his eyebrows. "sure. we can watch the show, but i want you to close your eyes when i tell you to. do you understand?"

"She's not going to... arrest him?"

"no. doesn't work like that here." He narrows his eyes, watching the fight. "humans like him, they know the risk they're taking."

You swallow. "Does this often happen in the monster districts?"

He grimaces. "all the time. you can't let the pretty lights fool ya, it gets rough. we call guys like this crusaders. he's here 'cause some of your religions treat killing us as a sacred duty. then some gangs do this as part of their initiation rites, and hell, there's a lot of assholes who just think dusting monsters is some kinda game."

_* and then there was the day the anomaly showed up..._

"That's horrible..."

"that's not even getting into the goddamn kidnappings. the puzzles can't keep out everyone. sometimes they just mean the smart ones get in."

"I'm sorry..."

He shrugs. "we deal with it. it's not like the rest of the underworld's all sweetness and light. think you know that."

"Afraid so," you reply. The neighborhood where you live now is downright nice compared to some of the places you've lived. "Lucky guess?"

_* she didn't freeze when she heard that shot, she hit the ground immediately._

He shrugs. "something like that."

The two of you fall silent. It's not the most pleasant occasion for small talk, you think, cringing as the man takes aim and shoots Undyne again. "s'all right. she can take a hell of a lot of hits," Sans reassures you. "she's got it covered. matter of fact... close your eyes."

You follow his orders, shutting out the shower of spears aimed at the man as he chants some sort of prayer. A few seconds later you hear a scream from the front of the park and shouts and cheers of "Undyne!" and "Hooray for the Guard!" from a crowd of monsters who gathered to watch the fight.

"Can I open my eyes yet?"

"give it a second. the guard just got here, they'll deal with the body."

You nod, keeping your eyes closed, and after a minute he says "all right." You open your eyes. The body's been covered with a sheet, and it's being loaded into the back of a car by a pair of dog monsters. "well, that's that. sorry that freak spoiled your walk," he says. "gotcha something as an apology." He holds out a second Nice Cream. 

You look at it, then at him, then halfway across the park at the vendor, then back at him. "How did you do that?"

He raises an eyebrow. "how d'ya think i did that?"

You give this some thought. "You line your ribcage with ice and carry an emergency supply of Nice Creams to pass out to women in distress?"

He chuckles. "not a bad theory. but no." You wonder if he'll explain, but he just wiggles the Nice Cream at you. "c'mon, it'll get warm."

You accept it. "Thank you."

"what's it say?"

You unwrap it and read the wrapper. "'Have a wonderful day!'"

"'s probably better than his at least," Sans says, nodding towards the car as it drives off.

"Actually it's -- it's going well so far," you say with a smile. You lick your Nice Cream. "Ooh, blueberry-vanilla..."

"districts treating ya all right, 'sides what just happened?"

"It was a little hard to get used to how dark it is at first," you answer. "But I rather like it now. This park is enchanting."

He looks around appraisingly. "yeah. used to just be a big open space, but we redesigned it a while back, put in all the ponds and flowers and stuff. i helped fix up the lights."

_* well, i mostly watched pap and the others fix them up. but i did do a couple._

"It's nice to be able to come here and explore... I always wondered what it was like in the monster districts, but you don't exactly encourage tourism... Of course, I can understand why," you add quickly.

"glad ya got to satisfy your curiosity," he says with a grin.

The two of you lapse into silence, and you look around the park as you enjoy your treat. He keeps glancing at you when he thinks your attention is drawn elsewhere. Enjoying the sight of you licking the Nice Cream, perhaps? He didn't give you a blue one on _purpose_ , did he? Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you hurry to make conversation.

"I've never seen those blue flowers before..."

"ah, yeah. echo flowers. they're fun, actually. they repeat the last thing anyone said 'round them."

"What? Wow..."

"yeah, here," he says, standing up. He offers you a hand, and you take it and stand up as well. Now that you're not panicking because of the fight nearby, you can appreciate the feeling of his finger bones against your skin, and your tummy flips as you remember how he held your hand to his chest the last time you met him. You think he might take your elbow, but he drops your hand and puts his hands in his pockets as he leads you over to the pond. 

He beckons you over to one of the flowers on the other side of the pond, near where he had been talking with Undyne. He leans over and runs his finger over the petal of one of the flowers, and you lean over too until you can hear his distorted voice whispering "enjoy. i'll take a load off, watch the fun." Your eyes widen. "Wow!" He touches the petal again, and you hear your 'Wow!' repeated back to you. 

"Say something," you ask him.

He grins. "something."

You run your finger over the flower's petal. It has a slight stickiness to it. His voice repeats 'something.'

He looks down at the empty stick from your Nice Cream in your hand, and says "there ya have it. now you're done, ya want any help getting home?"

"I -- I'm --" you stammer. It's not like he doesn't know what you do, but you still feel awkward bringing it up.

"got another appointment soon?"

"Right," you say, wondering if he can tell that you're blushing in the low light. 

_* little does she know it's the last trick she's gonna turn._

"gotcha. well, i'll leave ya to it." He adjusts his hat.

"Thank you for watching out for me," you say, smiling at him. 

"anytime. see you soon," he says, winking at you.

"How soon?" 

His grin widens. Did you really just _say_ that? You squeeze your eyes shut, wincing. You can almost hear your mother admonishing you for such brazen behavior.

He steps forward, closing in on you, and you smell the sharp scent of his magic. His fingertips graze your cheek. "not soon enough," he answers, his voice low.

He's gone when you open your eyes. You look around for him, but in the low light, you don't see him anywhere. How _does_ he do that? He must be a lot faster than he looks.

When you're quite sure he's nowhere near you, you reach out to the Echo Flower and touch one of the delicate petals. 'not soon enough,' it whispers to you several times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos; I'm still rather astonished at myself for actually following through and posting Chapter 1, but now I'm glad that I did. That chapter and this one taken together should give you a fairly good idea of what the rest of the story will be like, although I don't know when I'll post the next chapter.


	3. a little different (explicit)

The next evening, you return to the hotel where you met Sans a week ago. Over the course of the two taxi rides, you wondered if you'd be meeting him again tonight. Muffet refused to say; when she was on the phone with you she just laughed in her affected way and said you'd know soon enough. Her wording reminded you of your exchange with him the previous day, and you stammered your way through the rest of the mercifully short conversation.

When he opens the door, your smile is genuine. You think his is, too, but you can't quite tell. That grin seems to be his default expression. "heya. come on in." 

You step inside, and he takes your coat and hat, saying "so. kept ya waiting, did i?" You feel yourself blushing, and he chuckles. "had an interesting week? muffet keeping ya busy?"

"Another lucky guess?"

He takes off his suit jacket, answering "you could say that." You turn to study one of the pictures on the wall as he unstraps his holster. There are flowers that can grow in the low light of the underworld, but they tend to be fragile and small; the artist of this picture was clearly intending to portray the showier flowers that can grow on the surface, where there's full sunlight, but their imagination has produced blossoms that look like they're from an alien planet. 

Sans puts his jacket and holster on the top of the dresser. "want a drink?" 

"I -- I'd like that," you say as he removes his cufflinks and pushes his shirtsleeves to his elbows.

"well then." There's two shot glasses on the dresser, and he pulls out his hip flask and pours an amber-colored liquid into each of them. He passes one to you, then clinks his glass against yours. "cheers, sweetheart."

You sit on the edge of the bed and sip at your shot. It's not a kind of liquor you're familiar with -- some kind of whiskey perhaps? Alcohol is illegal in New Ebott, which doesn't mean that it's hard to find. However, you'd prefer to stay away from the kinds of places that sell it, so your experience with drinking is fairly limited, particularly with hard liquor like this. It's strong, with peppery undertones, and it makes your lips tingle and warms your tummy. 

He downs his in one gulp, then paces in front of you, his hands in his pockets. Sensing his impatience, you take your time with your drink; you haven't even finished half of it when he leans over you, plucks the glass out of your fingers, drains the rest of it himself and tosses it to the side. It bounces off the carpet and rolls into a corner. He touches his fingertips to your chest and pushes you back onto the bed. "that's enough, girl."

"I wasn't done with that," you protest, raising an eyebrow. 

"i know what you were doing. turn around."

You roll onto your belly, feeling vulnerable and -- already? -- very turned on. He sits on the bed next to you, placing his hand right below the nape of your neck and pressing down slightly. "want ya to tell me 'bout what you've been doing this week."

"I -- I can't name names..."

"you think i want names? what i want to know is how you like fucking monsters." He unzips your dress to your lower back and eases your arms out of the sleeves. You shift around, helping him, and soon the bodice of your dress is bunched up around your waist. 

"It's easy money," you say, lifting your hips and letting him pull it down over your ass.

Maybe you should have told him something more flattering or sexy, you think, instead of just saying the first thing that came to mind. But he pauses in the middle of removing your dress and laughs. "yeah? how so?"

"Well... So far, it's been easy to get most of them off," you say, feeling awkward as hell. "After fooling around for a while, they like to cover me with magic, get it inside me, and feel it on my body as I'm kissing them. All I have to do is kinda... wiggle," you say, demonstrating the shimmying movement you've found to be most effective, "and kiss and touch them. It's..." It's not as much fun as it was with you, you nearly say, and you stop short. "It's not much of a challenge. I don't really get why --" You pause, again. Speculating why other human women are so reluctant to fuck monsters even for the pleasing amounts of money you've been taking home would be insulting.

Sans considers this as he slides your dress down your legs. He gets it caught on the heels of your shoes and takes those off at the same time, leaving you in your slip. "not much of a challenge, huh... so it's sort of like... this?" He strips your underwear off, then sits you back up and lifts you onto his lap. He pulls your slip over your head and removes your bra, tossing them both to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Then he angles his head up to kiss you, curling his fingers over the back of your neck and pushing your head down to meet his. You feel his magic covering your neck first, then spreading to your chest, your back and down your arms. He seems to be able to control it better than most of the other monsters you've been with, as it moves in little circles over your nipples, making you moan and grind your hips into his lap as he holds you around your waist. It spreads over your face and makes the back of your head tingle. As when other monsters have done this to you, it doesn't seem to affect your vision, and you can breathe perfectly normally, although if you were to open your mouth you would be able to taste it on your tongue. All this makes you curious, but now doesn't seem like a good time to ask about how it works. His tongue explores your mouth as the thin haze of magic runs down your body, over your ass and legs, right down to your feet. Where your stockings cover your legs, the effect is muted, but against your skin, it feels fantastic. You squirm underneath it, running your hands over his shoulder blades. 

He breaks away from the kiss and his fingers dig into your side as he whispers "spread your legs for me, girl." You do so, and he growls "that's better." He brings his mouth back to yours and moves his hand to the back of your head, taking a fistful of hair and pulling hard as his magic slides up the insides of your thighs and reaches your vulva. You gasp, your scalp tingling, and hold on tightly to his shoulder blades. There's a little knob of bone at the top of each one; they make great handles, although you suspect that if he knew that's what you were calling them, he'd be less than impressed with your knowledge of skeletal anatomy. 

His magic covers your labia and clit, forcing its way into your vagina, filling you up. You gasp and try tightening your vaginal muscles around it, grinding down into him. He makes a low, satisfied sound and holds you closer to him, pressing his mouth more insistently against your lips. There's a sharp difference in intensity between his magic and the magic of the other monsters, and you writhe in his lap, throwing yourself into the kiss and feeling your body open up to him. 

He pulls away, and his magic vanishes. You whimper, and he looks curiously at you. 

"doesn't do it for ya, huh?"

"Wait, I didn't say that," you say quickly, your hands tightening over the tops of his shoulder blades. "It feels really good. Especially..." 

"especially when it's me," he says, grinning knowingly at you. It's not a question. You blush, looking away, but can't help but nod. He activates his magic all over your body again, nearly instantaneously this time, and grins as you start to squirm. "there ya go. but it's just not what you want, is it? greedy little human that you are. all week, you've been desperate for something more like... what i gave you, last time. am i right?"

Are you really that transparent? Your heart beats faster as he lays his palm flat against your cheek, as if he's feeling the heat from your blood rushing just under the skin. "You already know you're right," you whisper. 

He chuckles. "yeah, i do." He runs his fingers through your hair and gives it a sharp tug, and you gasp, pressing your body up to his, your cheek against the side of his skull. His leg bones dig into your thighs, and even the discomfort of being perched on top of them makes the pleasure of his magic and touch feel all the more intense. "you're probably wondering what else i can do, aren't ya? what it might feel like if i wasn't holding back with you." He turns his face to you, running his tongue slowly along your jawline, then down your neck. You shiver, grinding down into his lap and running one hand up and down the top of his spine as you clutch at one of his ribs. "go ahead," he whispers. "tell me ya haven't been dreaming all week 'bout just how far i could take ya."

"You know you're right. _Again_ ," you whisper back, wondering if he can sense how wet you're getting using his magic inside you.

He laughs. "'course i am, sweetheart. but ya know what?" His fingers press into your back. "i've been thinking 'bout it too. thinking about it a whole hell of a lot, actually. and i've got a proposal for ya. probably not fair to do business with you when i've gotcha like this, but... think you oughta know, i'm not one for playing fair." You shiver at the cruel edge in his voice, sitting up straight and looking down at him. His expression is calculating as he regards you, then it turns to mortification and his magic vanishes. "god, sorry, i haven't even paid you yet. over there." He lifts you off his lap, sets you back down and nods toward the dresser. Apparently you weren't the only one eager for this meeting, you think with satisfaction. You turn away from him as you count the money, but you can almost feel his intense gaze on you, and you can't help giving him a little show by leaning over a bit and swaying your hips from side to side. 

There's a generous tip, again. "Thank you," you say, smiling at him as you tuck the envelope into your purse. 

"gonna make you earn it," he says with a shrug as he undoes the buttons on his vest.

"What about that proposal?"

"decided it can wait." He pulls off his vest and suspenders, and his pants fall off his pelvis bone. He kicks them off impatiently, then sits on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes and socks. You sit next to him and loosen his tie -- a little too slowly for his taste, apparently, as he takes over and does it for you. It falls to the floor as he quickly undoes the buttons on his shirt, then strips that off, too. 

He turns to you, putting his hands on your shoulders and looking up at you with a gleam in his eye. "all right, girl. you wanna see what i can do?"

You feel your vulva throbbing and a tight ache deep within yourself, and you nod. "Please, Sans..."

He leans forward, and his fingers tighten over your shoulders. "then start by sucking me off."

He lays back on the bed, his hands behind his head, and you straddle his legs, holding on to the tops of his pelvis bone with both hands as his cock forms itself. When you think it's done, you support yourself on your hands and knees and lower your head to his cock, using your tongue to tease the base of the shaft before running it up to the head in one long, slow lick. He groans and pushes your head down, pressing your lips hard against his cock, and you take it in your mouth, tightening your lips around it and licking up and down the shaft. You feel something smooth pushing against your labia, and you pause, your eyes open wide. "keep going, bitch," he growls, and you keep sucking, swaying your hips as whatever's behind you presses up against you. "gonna fuck your cunt and your face at the same time." 

You glance up at him, and he's smiling, his expression menacing. "yeah. i can do that. 'cause here's what you don't get about monsters." You feel your labia parting, the head of his second cock slowly forcing its way into your slick cunt. You arch your back, aching for him, and suck harder in response as your body opens up to him. The cock in your mouth is about average size, but the one he's starting to fuck you with feels larger, making your vaginal walls expand, giving you the satisfying sensation of being filled up. It's all magic, you realize -- he's not limited by biology, so why not make two of them? why not change the size? You whimper as it pushes deep into you, sheathing itself in your body, then starts to thrust in and out. You feel his hands on your head, smoothing down your hair. "we use our magic in bed, yeah? and for most of 'em, that little trick with their magic spread over your body, that you thought was so boring? that's the best they can do. the thing that gets them off the hardest." He sounds disdainful, and he caresses your cheek as you blow him. "when they do that they're bringing every bit of power they have to enjoying you. using it to feel your soft skin, your delicate body. opening ya up, filling that pretty cunt of yours with the very force that animates them." 

Although you're still sucking on one cock and submitting to another, you feel his magic covering your body all over, skimming your skin and heightening your pleasure. His dark voice sounds even rougher as he continues "you're a human, so you can't imagine how good this feels for me... even if i wasn't fucking ya two ways it'd be amazing. no wonder you got the rest of'em to come just with that little wiggle of yours. do it for me." You shimmy as best as you can with his cocks fucking you, and you feel his pelvis twisting underneath your hands. "fuck. that DOES feel good," he groans. He holds your jaw in one hand, his fingers pressing into your cheek, and strokes your hair. 

Pleased by the praise, you shimmy again. "alright, alright, cut it out. i'm trying to tell you something here." He takes a handful of your hair near the roots and yanks on it, and you tense up and whimper, tears coming to your eyes. "there." His voice is starting to sound a little strained; you're obviously distracting him from his lecture. "now, your average monster, that's their limit. they can barely gather enough magic in one place for long enough to create a decent cock, and they wouldn't have the first goddamn clue how to use it anyway. they've got to spread it out all over you instead. you probably figured out by now... i'm a little different." 

Given what you've seen of other monsters, that's an understatement. You suck even harder, tightening your vaginal muscles around his second cock as he continues to fuck you. It seems so improbable... Is it just floating there? It must look pretty odd, but it's so much stimulation that it's almost overwhelming. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and lick in circles around the head, and he chuckles, pressing your head down lightly. All this is having an effect on his body as well, and you feel him starting to thrust harder into your cunt, his pelvis bucking underneath your hands. "pathetic... it's so easy to turn you on. are all human girls this fuckin' easy?" You shake your head slightly, making an "uhm-uhm" noise without removing your mouth from his cock. You feel his magic start to move over your clit, rubbing the shaft hard as he fucks you, and you squirm, taking his whole cock into your mouth. The head pushes up against the back of your soft palate as you run one hand over his leg bone and hold on tight to his pelvis with the other. "think you're starting to understand. you could fuck every monster in the underworld and not have as much fun as ya did with me, 'cause not a single goddamn one of them is anywhere near my level. THAT'S why you've been so bored, sweetheart. you started with me. and i spoiled ya."

He's arrogant as hell, you think as you tighten your lips around his cock. You arch your back, pushing your hips into each of his thrusts, and he chuckles, twining your hair around his fingers and using it to pull your head up and down as his cock pounds into your mouth. Your scalp smarts, and you whimper and suck even harder. 

"and now look at ya. desperate for my cum. you liked it last time, yeah? when i lit you up?" You glance up at him, making a noise of agreement, and he responds by thrusting into you even harder, his magic vibrating over your clit and nipples and stimulating your whole body. "you just wait. once i've got my magic in your blood and in your cunt... the next time i light you up, you won't be able to move. the only fuckin' thing you'll be able to do is come hard for me, wishin' i was on top of ya. you want that, slut?" You whimper "uhm-hum," the tension in your body rising, and he presses down hard on your head, forcing his whole cock into your mouth as your lips hit his pelvic bone. "that's what i like to hear. good girl." 

All the stimulation is almost too much to take, and you whimper again as you feel your body respond to him, your self-control quickly slipping away. You give yourself over to sensation and an orgasm rocks your body, and he growls with satisfaction, running his hands all over your shoulders and the back of your head. Your senses seem to go blank as you come, and you moan and try not to gag as your lips go slack around the base of his cock. Your muscles tighten around his other cock and your vulva throbs as you hold on to his pelvis so hard you're certain you're going to break him. 

"perfect," he says in a low voice. He lets loose on you, making deep, guttural noises as his cocks thrust into you; you're so weak from your own orgasm that all you can do is hang on to his bones and let him use your body as he will. As you're quivering from his increasingly powerful thrusts and the aftershocks of your orgasm, you feel his body tensing up. "oh god," he moans, pulling hard on your hair. "take it for me, ya stupid little whore." Your vagina and throat fill with his cum as he groans, pressing your head to his pelvis, and you languidly lick his shaft, swallowing when you sense that he's spent. All at once, his magic disappears. You slump down on him, only vaguely aware that resting on the lower half of his body is not all that comfortable, and he rests his hands on your shoulders, his body shuddering. Your skin tingles and feels slightly cool all over, and there's the faint smell of his magic. It's because he had it on your skin this time, you think, smelling the back of your hand, then licking your lips. It really does remind you of mint -- it's not an exact match, but it gives you the same sort of sharp, fresh sensation.

After a minute, you hear him patting the bed next to him. "hey. up here."

You sit up and scoot over to the other side of the bed. He rolls on his side toward you, his eyes closed, his expression content. 

"I didn't even ask if you wanted me to stay this time..."

He opens his eyes and looks up at you, raising his eyebrows. "'course i do. said i had a proposal for ya, yeah?"

"What is it?"

"damn, girl. give me a minute," he says, closing his eyes again.

You tuck your knees up under your chin, wrapping your arms around your legs. After a few minutes, he asks "how much did'ja make? last week." You raise your eyebrows, and he grins. "humor me."

Is he going to suggest what you think he's going to suggest? You give him a number. It's much more than you made as a secretary that did piece work on the side.

He nods. "not bad. easy money, right? but still a damn sight less than you're worth."

A compliment that doesn't boil down to 'you happen to be a human woman'? You smile. 

He looks searchingly at you as he gives you a number about five times what you just told him you made. "every week. for the privilege of not sharing ya with anyone. end your agreement with muffet. i want to take care of you."

Your eyes widen. "Are you kidding?"

He raises an eyebrow. "you'll have to work a little harder, but you'll have more fun. don't even pretend you didn't enjoy that just now." He winks, and you smile, lowering your eyes demurely.

"What about Muffet?" you ask. "She won't take it well if she ever finds I've cut her out..." It was hard enough to fuck a spider monster; you definitely don't want one to be mad at you.

"already talked to her. she'll let you go, if that's what you want. we came to an agreement."

You wonder just what the nature of that agreement may have been.

"i want to rent a place where we can meet up, too," he continues. "you can fix it up however you like." 

"I like that idea," you say. You've seen a lot of cheap, toilet-less hotel rooms this week. "Any conditions I should know about?"

"you can break it off anytime, for whatever reason. no hard feelings. but as long as the deal's on, you're mine. i don't want anyone else in the picture."

"That's reasonable," you say. You don't exactly have the standing to ask the same from him, you think. "What else?"

"we keep this secret," he replies. "you won't tell anyone about me or about where your money comes from, and we won't meet in public."

"You're not married, are you?"

"no. this would be for your protection."

"Are you a gangster?"

"more like a freelancer."

You tilt your head, evaluating him. "Should I be worried about getting involved with you?"

He rolls onto his back, resting his head on his hands. "i do dangerous work. but i said i'd take care of ya, and i will." He closes his eyes.

Who _is_ this guy? It's not the first time you've wondered, but you don't have any monster friends to ask and you didn't exactly think your other clients would be pleased if you quizzed them for information about some other man. Dangerous work, huh... Back when you were less street smart, your first boyfriend was part of a gang; that part of your life ended violently, and ever since then you've done your best to steer clear of the gangs of New Ebott. You consider Sans' expensive clothes, the gun he carries and the ludicrous amount of money he just offered you. Who knows what he means by being a freelancer, but he's obviously involved with illegal business to a degree that your ambitious first boyfriend could have only dreamed about. Generally speaking, your luck is abysmal; although you have several reasons you'd like to accept immediately, your rational mind warns you that getting involved with him any further than you already are may be a bad idea. But that kind of money changes things... No doubt that's his motivation for offering such an exorbitant amount. "All right. I'll keep it secret."

"so we got a deal?" He sits up and offers you his hand.

You take it, feeling his bones close around your fingers. "Yes."

"glad to hear it," he says, grinning as he shakes your hand. "well, then. let's talk about that apartment." He pauses. "'cause it's probably better not to use your place as a base."

You can't really imagine someone like him even visiting your tiny apartment, squeezing in with you in the bottom bunk bed. "I do appreciate my privacy... and I don't think you're paying that much just to be with me once a week," you say hesitantly. 

He laughs. "yeah. try every chance i can get. realistically speaking... three, four, maybe five times a week. we can work out the logistics."

You don't want me at your place, either, you think. Are you lying about being married? Do you live with your mom? Don't suppose you have a secret room full of the heads of human call girls? He gives you a funny look, but just says "so, here's what i want you to do. find a nice little apartment you like the looks of. someplace you feel comfortable, you can get to it easily, in some quiet, safe neighborhood where the neighbors mind their own business. third floor or above, make it a challenge to break into." He raises an eyebrow at you. "private. reasonably soundproof." 

"Human part of town is okay?"

"human part of town's what i want. you're probably pretty sick of taking two taxis twice a day, yeah? i can get around. it won't be a problem."

It might be a problem when the neighbors notice a skeleton making frequent visits. But you can deal with that later -- and with the kind of money he's offering you, you can deal with something else immediately. "All right. I can do that," you say quietly.

"i'll give you your first month's money before ya leave, and i've tacked on some extra to cover what you'll need to rent a place and get it fixed up a bit. if you need more immediately, take it out of your money and i'll pay you back. won't expect you'd need to, but if you do don't worry, 'cause i can afford it and you're acting as my proxy. then once you get the place and we regroup, i'll give you whatever you need to make it comfortable." You frown, and he asks "what?"

"Sounds like you're going to be sending me home with more money than most people have ever held at once in their life."

"that going to be ok?" He pauses. "you worried about getting mugged?"

* _talk about problems i don't really think about._

"I can handle myself," you answer. 

He nods. "ok, then. once you get a place, mail me the address and a copy of the keys. type the envelope, don't put your return address on it. then i'll leave you a note when i come by, setting up our next meeting. got it?"

He's really got this thought out; it feels like you're starting a stint as a spy, not as a mistress. "I don't have your address," you say. 

He gets up from the bed, fishes out a notebook and a pen from his jacket pocket, writes down a few lines and hands the paper to you. The address is a PO box in a human area of New Ebott. He doesn't even want you to know where he lives? You privately give the secret room theory a little more credence. He also brings out another envelope, sitting down and passing it to you. It's stuffed with bills. You can't help but smile as you look at it; this is enough money to let you do what you thought was impossible. Although he fully expected you to take his offer, you realize. When he opened the door to you, he knew that he'd own you by the time you left. He almost certainly knew it yesterday when he met you in the park.

"well. i guess that's that. anything else you need?"

"Is there anything in particular you want in the apartment?"

"a bed," he says with a wink.

"Sure, but I meant like... something to make you happy. Do you drink coffee? Do you have, I don't know, a color you particularly like?" 

He looks touched, and you think he wants to answer in the affirmative, but he shakes his head. "nah. it's more for you. i want it to be a place where you're comfortable."

"That's really sweet of you... Thank you, Sans," you say, kissing his cheekbone. He grins. 

"hey, thanks for accepting my offer. we're gonna have a hell of a lot of fun together." He gets up. "for now, gotta go settle some business. i'll call you a cab."

You take the hint, putting yourself back together as he dresses himself.

You're more curious about him than all of your clients were curious about you. "So when your magic disappears at the end... it's because you can't concentrate anymore, right?"

If he's gone so far as to buy you, you hope he won't mind making conversation with you occasionally. As he adjusts his vest and watch chain, he answers, "basically. takes a certain amount of focus to keep it together in the first place. when i come i just can't do it anymore." He pauses and grins at you. "hell, i can't remember my own name, the way you blow me."

* _which is the very reason i'm doing this..._

You smile back, feeling pleased by the praise. "I thought it might be something like that... Some of the other clients I had tried to do something similar, but it kept falling apart."

"doesn't surprise me. you're pretty distracting." He winks.

He pauses and looks like he wants to ask you something. 

* _no, i am not going to tell her a damn knock knock joke. the hell has gotten into me? she'd probably break the deal on the spot._

The phone rings, and he grumbles "sorry" as he picks it up. "sans here. already? shit. goddamn surface humans. yeah, i'll be right there."

You wince, but he's not paying attention to you. You notice your cab's arrived, and he turns and nods as you leave.

You wonder what he was talking about on the phone, but you don't need to ask him what his problem with people from the surface is. Is part of his job to help stop monster kidnappings? The kinds of people who carry them out are nothing to mess with. Hopefully he's good with his magic both in and out of bed, you think.

Whatever he did after you left, he wasn't so distracted that he forgot to light you up with his magic a few hours later. And it's fantastic -- the effect is much stronger than when you only sucked him off, blazing through your veins and causing your vulva to throb. You'd thought he had been exaggerating, but he's probably right: you'd be entirely unable to walk right now. When you touch yourself, you're already so turned on that it takes almost no time to get yourself off. He responds again as your body trembles and jerks from the force of your orgasm, lighting you up with a gentle shimmer of magic. Your senses blurred and your body satisfied a second time, you drift to sleep, your last thoughts of this little apartment you're going to find -- and all the fun you'll have there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm amused by all these very kind compliments on world building over the course of the last two chapters, because Reader's world is about to become this apartment. That's why I tagged this as a gangster AU story without a lot of action; this is, by design, a slow-paced story in which the action mostly takes place in the bedroom (and on the living room couch and table, sometimes in the bathtub, even in the kitchen). It'll be over two weeks -- and several chapters -- before Reader sets foot in district one again.
> 
> Don't expect chapter 4 for a while, I need to think through some aspects of the world first. I thought I would at least get this chapter done and reveal the basic setup.
> 
> Thanks to peonylanterns for beta reading for me!


	4. i'll be seeing the sunshine soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall we get into the right quasi-1930s mindset with a little music? Try the Boswell Sisters' ["Shout Sister Shout."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iafM9IN3-kY)

Saturday night, after you make your deal with Sans, you also settle things with Muffet so as to avoid a lengthy set of taxi rides and stops at the waypoints on another day. A little helper spider holds up a sign with a picture of a taxi pass, then a sign with a picture of money. You gingerly give it your pass and Muffet's share of your earnings, grateful that this is your last visit here. Muffet sits down with you and offers you a donut, which you decline as politely as you can. One of your clients had informed you, rather too late, about what her treats were made out of. 

She smirks at you as she dismantles her donut and pops pieces in her mouth at the same time. "I rather thought you'd make an impression when I first sent you to him. But even I didn't know just how taken he'd be with you, dearie. Not long after your first appointment with him, he paid me a visit... Booked you for this evening, started feeling me out about what it would take for me to let you go." She pauses. "You've been so popular, I didn't intend to give you up at all, even for him. But he can be... persuasive. He convinced you, at any rate. How much convincing did it _take_?"

"Not much," you say, feeling blood rush to your cheeks. 

She raises several eyebrows. "I must admit, I've always wondered... what _is_ he like in bed? I know he has, shall we say, a particular liking for humans..."

You just smile, and she sighs. "Well, I don't blame you for staying quiet. Just... be careful with him," she says.

"Why's that?"

She narrows all eight eyes at you. "He's changed a great deal since his brother died in a killing spree."

Your eyes open wide. "Oh no..."

"That day was the worst slaughter any of the districts had ever seen," she continues. "Hundreds of monsters were dusted by a single human, right here in district one. No spider monsters, thankfully..." She sips at her cider, then continues. "Before then, Sans was different... lazy, goofy... He took it really hard."

That's an understatement. 'Lazy' and 'goofy' are about the last two adjectives you'd have picked to describe the Sans you've slept with.

"He used to be a sentry, but he quit and started doing odd jobs... Kept to himself." She shrugs. "I've had some contact with him since then, but we're hardly close. But as it turns out, he can be quite persuasive. He ended up paying me a finder's fee, to compensate me for losing you..." She raises her eyebrows. "I actually floated the number as a joke. He didn't even try to negotiate."

That certainly would convince someone like Muffet. You should get a cut, you think, seeing as how you found Muffet. But you keep that observation to yourself, instead asking "What kind of odd jobs does he do?"

She shrugs. "He's helped me with a couple of issues. Problem clients. But I understand he mostly works with humans, now."

So he does dangerous work with humans and can throw obscene amounts of money around? You hardly need to ask what kind of money you're taking. Given what you can do with it, you don't care.

You'd like to ask more questions about Sans, but she stands up and offers you one of her six hands to shake. "I wish you luck with him, and I do hope it goes well for you. You're always welcome back with me, if it doesn't."

You hug her, and she looks startled. "My goodness, dearie. You don't have to do that. I had the impression you were rather arachnophobic..."

"I kinda am," you confess, "but I'm so grateful to you. You don't know how much you've helped me. Thank you."

"In that case..." She wraps her arms around you. "I did wonder if you were in some sort of trouble..." She shakes her head. "I won't pry. I understand how these things can be. But I do sincerely wish you the best. Would you care for some donuts to take home?" She savors the look on your face before breaking out into her high-pitched, affected laughter.

Early the next morning, you separate out your share of the money from what Sans gave you to rent an apartment, then take out just enough of your money to cover your unpaid rent and your expenses for the rest of the month. The two large piles of cash both have a destination, but you're not sure you'll be able to finish both errands in one day. You're aware that you need to get the apartment settled quickly; you'd rather not have Sans wonder if you've skipped town with his money. But the other task you have to do today can't wait any longer.

You take a bus to what you're quite sure is the scuzziest, most overcrowded hospital in New Ebott. You emerge with your sister, a thick file of medical records and a backpack full of her belongings, mostly the detective novels and pulp fiction magazines she devours. 

Sasha's eyes glitter in her sunken face as you wait for a taxi. "Whatcha busting me out for?" she croaks, her voice muffled by a surgical mask. "You have to flee town or something?"

"Sure, I got every cop in New Ebott on my tail," you reply, winking at her.

"All four of'em?"

"Just three. Took a quarter of the force out of commission. Permanently." You blow imaginary smoke off of a finger gun, and she snickers, then coughs.

When you'd showed up at the hospital last week with enough cash to pay off your sister's bills, you'd told her that you robbed a bank. She hadn't believed you then and she doesn't believe you now, but she manages a smile that you can see in her eyes. They're surrounded by a thick layer of small white pustules that cover her forehead and cheeks, extend to her temples and dot the bottom of her face, creating a mask-like pattern.

You push her as carefully as you can, but she makes a small, strained noise every time her wheelchair hits a bump. She doesn't like to admit how much pain she's in. Well, if you can pull this off, she'll be on some serious painkillers by the evening. You pray you're not making a mistake, that they'll let her in, that you're not putting her through this for nothing...

A taxi collects a fare ahead of you, so you prepare to wait for another one, adjusting the blanket over your sister's lap. A man waiting at the bus stop looks over at the two of you, then takes several steps away. "Rough business, this whitepox stuff," he calls over to you.

"Uh-huh," you answer, hoping it'll convey a general agreeableness without encouraging further small talk. You fuss with Sasha's scarf and feign a great interest in the nearby Silver Cloud Bridge.

Instead of taking the hint, he continues "Y'know it's monsters behind it, right?"

"I've heard the theory and I think it's complete garbage," you answer. 

"That's just because you don't know all the facts, love," the man answers. 

"Pushy _and_ condescending. Lucky us," Sasha grumbles under her breath.

The man must not have heard her muffled comment, as he says "Monsters get up to some weird experiments behind all those puzzles. That's how come they don't get sick. The more of us die, the easier it is for them to steal our souls. Think about it."

"Ah, what do _you_ know?" an older man waiting for the bus chimes in. "Monsters ain't like that. Truth is, one of the pharm corps was trying t'make a vaccine and they ended up making it worse. Then the scoundrels covered it up. My son died of it, I oughta know." 

A woman waiting for the bus looks around before chiming in. "You're _both_ wrong." She points up to the sky with her index finger and glances up at the clouds. This is a common way to refer to the surface; depending on the context, a different finger may be used. "That's where the new strain came from," she says in a low voice. "Keep the population down, keep us busy. Otherwise we'd get _ideas_. Drag the whole worthless lot of 'em under the clouds with the rest of us."

The two other men look distinctly nervous. "Careful, missy," the older man says. "Seem to recall that kinda talk landing a lot of people in front of a firing squad."

You're deeply grateful for the taxi that pulls up as the three of them get into a debate. "Do you think any of them are right?" Sasha asks as you transfer her from her wheelchair to the back seat of the taxi. 

"No. They just want the world to make sense."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, _that's_ a lost cause."

"Hey!" The taxi driver turns back and glares at the two of you. "Not driving a maskface. Get'er outta my cab, girlie."

"Give us a break! Am I s'posed to _fly_ outta here?" Sasha croaks.

You anticipated this; most of your money is concealed on your person, in case anyone steals your purse, but you're carrying enough for two decent bribes. You wiggle a bill at the driver. "We just need to get downtown." His eyes slide from the money to your scowling sister, then back to the money. He reaches for it, and you snatch it back. " _After_ we get there."

He grumbles, but agrees, and you stash the wheelchair and Sasha's bag in the trunk, then get in the back seat next to your sister. "Taking her to Ebott General, miss?" he asks. Ebott General is the best hospital in the underground -- and not your destination. However, it's close enough for your purposes, and you agree. 

Sasha raises her eyebrows. "So... you robbed _another_ bank?"

You shrug. "That's where the money is."

"Have the papers given you any cool nicknames yet? The Lady Terror of New Ebott? The Bank-Busting Beauty? The Countess of Crime?"

"I've heard the cops have lots of nicknames for me. Problem is, they're all unprintable." You wink at her, and she giggles, although it quickly turns into a cough. 

Then she narrows her eyes at you. "How are you really doing all this?"

You incline your head slightly towards the taxi driver and give your head a slight shake as you whisper "I'll explain once we get where we're going."

"Ebott General?"

You shake your head.

Her eyes widen. If she was well, she'd have pestered you until you gave up and revealed your secrets, eavesdropping taxi driver be damned. But about a month ago you were told that she didn't have all that long to live, and inching closer to death has dampened her natural curiosity and spirits. So she acquiesces and rests her head on your shoulder, closing her eyes. It doesn't worry you; you had whitepox a decade ago, and you're immune. 

For those who can afford the costly medications for whitepox, it's no more of a threat than illnesses like chicken pox or strep throat, but poorly treated, it lingers and worsens. It creates the distinctive pattern of pustules around the eyes and attacks the body, causing pain, weakness and a sunken, wasted look. Before the new strain of whitepox emerged, it was a relatively uncommon disease, but in the past year it's become a full-blown pandemic. Now Sasha is just one of the hundreds of thousands of humans in New Ebott with a cluster of white dots around their eyes, their faces sunken and bodies wasting away, the people who love them competing to provide them with medicine and care despite the city-wide shortage of both.

Your parents had the kind of money necessary to nip it in the bud, but when it was Sasha's turn you couldn't do the same for her. You blew through your savings, put off paying bills and went into debt trying to get your sister what she needed. It wasn't enough. When you lost your job because you were entirely unable to concentrate on anything but her upcoming death, you contacted Muffet. 

There's a line from your favorite book that you've always tried to live by: 'You'll only have one chance to do what you must.' Prostitution seemed like your best chance to do what you could for your only living family member and closest friend in the limited time she had left.

You can almost see the lines of ethnic and class demarcation that stratify New Ebott during your drive, as the taxi passes through your blue-collar part of town to the middle-class area you'd been saving up to move to. You and Sasha have a hard time fitting in anywhere and she didn't get along with anyone at her school, where she was bored by the material and widely considered to be an ambitious brat. It's not an unfair assessment. Sasha is rather outspoken and has vague ideas of becoming rich and famous, although she hasn't quite figured out how she'll make that happen. You'd hoped a change of environment would be good for her, but there always seemed to be _something_ that demanded your money. Maybe you should have started hooking earlier, you think wryly. You'd seriously considered it at the lowest point of your life. But you'd sworn you'd never give anyone the satisfaction of knowing you'd ever been that desperate.

Before long, you arrive downtown. This part of the city has an actual police presence and the tallest skyscrapers, the newest of which looks as if it's trying to pierce the blanket of low clouds over the city. The New Ebott government buildings and the headquarters of most of the big corporations are located here, and this is where a certain select few can catch one of the sleek aerial trams to the surface. In the distance, one of the trams is making its way through the layer of clouds and down the cable to the terminal. So much money concentrated in one area has made downtown the prettiest part of the city. The gloom is compensated for with elegant buildings decorated in the geometric Art Deco style, abstract mosaics, water fountains and rock gardens. The sidewalks are flanked by small, bushy trees and beautifully arranged, if unassuming flowers. There's also a notable lack of unemployed loiterers, drunks and soup kitchens with lines stretching around the block.

The taxi driver drops you off in front of the hospital and collects his wildly inflated fee. You strap on Sasha's backpack, wishing you hadn't been quite so eager to comfort her with reading material, and start piloting her the other direction. Downtown is a pleasant place for a walk on a crisp fall morning like this one, but you don't have the time to admire the scenery.

"C'mon. _Now_ you gotta tell me," she insists.

"I'm taking you to Narcissus Hospital."

This shocks her into silence. After a few minutes, she squeaks "How?"

"Our family had a frozen account that I wasn't able to access until after I came of age." You had practiced saying that in the mirror several times last night until you thought it sounded natural.

"Really?"

"Really."

She considers this as you push her carefully down the sidewalk.

" _Really_?"

"Really." 

"When were you gonna _tell_ me about this?" she croaks.

"I didn't want to get your hopes up until I knew whether or not I could pull it off."

"Why did it take so long to get the money?"

"I didn't even know it existed until recently, then there was a bunch of red tape to deal with. I had to prove my identity, fill out a million forms and save up money for bribes." You wonder if your answers are sounding a little too smooth. You practiced answers to these questions and more.

"How much cash are we talking?"

"Enough."

Reaching the terminal for the public aerial tramway to the surface forestalls further questioning. 'Public' is a misnomer; access is heavily restricted, and it's only public insofar as it's not one of the private tramways operated by the biggest corps or particularly influential families. This one is mostly used by the minority of underground New Ebott residents who work on the surface. This group includes elite doctors, lawyers, scientists and so on, as well as those who keep the corps, hospital and other public areas running. It goes without saying that monsters are not permitted on the tramway; they can't even go downtown without being harassed by police.

There was a time in your life where you didn't even realize the underworld was a real place; you were fanciful as a child and imagined it to be a kind of hell lurking underneath the beauty that surrounded you. When you left to live underground yourself, you never expected to feel the sun on your skin again.

"State your business," the attendant commands, scanning the identification chip embedded in your palm and looking dubiously at you and your sister. Your mother was a minor aristocrat, which means that strictly speaking, your status as an even more minor aristocrat is questionable. But you weren't exiled, just impoverished, so you're technically still permitted to ride one of the aerial tram cars up and down all day like a carnival ride. However, there's no hiding what you've become: a secretary who strives for middle-class respectability and never seems to quite have enough money. You'd considered buying new clothes for yourself and Sasha, but to pull yourselves up to surface standards would take a considerable outlay of money, and you think you'll need everything in that envelope before the day is through. Furthermore, not only can you not hide what you've become, you can't hide who you are, no matter how you're dressed. Anyone who identifies you will probably be gratified to see the two of you properly humbled. 

You might be wearing a homemade dress and come from a notorious family, but you were still born on the surface. That means that you shouldn't have to endure a mere attendant nosing into your business, and allowing the insult to go unchallenged would be suspicious in and of itself. You summon your father's best imperious look, glaring at the attendant with the full force of a privilege you haven't actually had in years, and you're rewarded with a flustered "Please excuse my impertinence, miss. It is only a formality --"

"My sister and I intend to consult with the doctors at Narcissus Hospital," you tell him, slipping him the rest of the money you'd earmarked for bribes. Trying to get on the tram car without answering the question would be pushing your luck entirely too far, but now your answer is a favor you've done for him, not something he's demanded of you.

The doors open for you, and the attendant omits the customary bow as you push Sasha into the tram car, opting for a shallow nod. He's the first person to have identified the two of you in a few years, but today, he'll hardly be the last. Nodding at you in this fashion is intentionally rude, but so long as you can do what you came for, he can flip you off behind your back for all you care. Sasha, who left the surface before anyone tried to force her to be a lady, doesn't even realize she's been insulted.

When you left the surface almost six years ago you were in no mood to enjoy the view, but this time you look out the window. As the tram car climbs toward the surface, the skyscrapers disappear in the thick, low clouds, then those clouds drop underneath you, blanketing the city. The sudden sunlight is dazzling, and you squeeze your eyes shut, catching your breath.

The surface floats about three thousand five hundred feet above sea level; high enough to escape the clouds that plague the rest of the world, but low enough that people traveling to or from the underground don't suffer any ill effects from the altitude change. Its transformation from an island to a floating paradise was done with magic, generations ago, in an effort to escape the thick clouds that covered the world. Only a small number of humans ever had magic in the first place, and that seems to have been used up somehow in the creation of the surface. The descendants of the humans who created it are the modern-day royal family and aristocrats, who live in a walled-off enclave known as the Courtyard. The public half of the surface is known as the Concourse and imports labor from underground New Ebott, but the Courtyard is almost entirely secluded. News about what goes on inside is so rare that a rather large segment of the underground population is willing to believe just about any tale of debauchery and magical hijinks within its walls.

Every single child in the Courtyard goes through a phase of believing they're the first human in generations to manifest any magic, and each one in turn is disappointed. Your twin brother Mattias did a lot of target practice while blindfolded, which tended to result in everything but the bottle he was using as a target being plugged full of holes. He didn't appreciate your suggestion that this in and of itself might be some form of magic that could prove quite useful in hostage situations or as some sort of circus act. You yourself spent hours trying to communicate with your family's cat; she humored you because you hoped that delicious treats might induce her to express some gratitude. 

You kept on providing treats long after you gave up, but eventually your brother abandoned his blindfold. You'd agreed that whatever magic your mother's ancestors might have had, it was now quite gone. Years later, however, you've come to wonder if the same conclusion holds for the youngest member of your family.

You're grateful that it's early on Sunday morning, because there's only a small number of other passengers taking the aerial tramway. You'd been apprehensive about seeing someone you'd once known and being forced into an awkward conversation or an even more awkward silence over the course of the fifteen-minute ride. The chances were always rather low; all of your old friends were surface-born as well, and shared their families' horror at the idea of going underground for any reason short of an emergency evacuation of the surface.

You place the passengers nearest to you as a couple of nurses, headed to the same place you are. They're trying not to stare as they play the same little game with you and your sister. Then one of them recoils and leans over, whispering something to her companion. When he thinks you're not looking, he glances at the two of you, mouth open in surprise. Yep. They've guessed who you are. 

Sasha glares at the two nurses, tapping her fingers together. You touch her hand, shaking your head. "Don't let it get to you," you advise in a low voice.

" _We_ didn't do anything," she insists. Her voice is hoarse and muffled, but she's talking loudly enough that the other passengers can hear.

"I know. But you're going to have to get used to it."

"Never," she declares, staring down another passenger who's now openly gawking at the two of you. For once, you're grateful she's too weak to pilot her own wheelchair, or she'd probably go right over to him and offer to give him something to look at.

Unlike your sister, you'd like to hide yourself behind a book, but you push yourself to put up a front of unflappable poise instead, coolly returning the gaze of one of the two nurses until she looks away, abashed. You're channeling your father, who had been good at this sort of act -- right up until he wasn't. At times like this, you find it a little harder to blame him for leaving you and Sasha.

The aerial tram car reaches the terminal on the surface before your sister picks any fights, and the two of you disembark near the wall that separates the Courtyard from the Concourse. Sasha manages to pull her face mask down and turns her face to the sun, while you peel off a glove and hold your hand out, palm up, as if you can collect the sunshine in it and take it back with you. The sun feels almost painfully intense on your skin, and you're hit with a rush of nostalgia that brings tears to your eyes. But you don't want to tip anyone off about your past with a tan -- especially not Sans -- so you refrain from taking off your hat and letting it warm your hair.

"Can we go through the park first?" Sasha asks, looking over at the public park with longing. The trees are changing color, blazing with reds and yellows so unlike anything underground that it almost hurts your eyes. You wish you could agree, to invigorate yourself with fresh air and plants, vibrant, lush plants, but this errand will take hours. 

"I'm sorry," you say, pushing her toward one of the light rail lines that goes to the hospital. You think it does, at any rate; you didn't spend much time on this side of the surface when you lived here. "I've got to get back down as soon as I can."

"Got another bank to hit?" she asks as you load her onto the tram.

"They don't rob themselves."

The tram zips along the surface, past the headquarters of the various corps based up here. Due to their influence, this side of the surface has a futuristic feel that has only become more pronounced since you've been gone, with gleaming buildings and a minimalist aesthetic. It's easy to imagine a newer, more virulent strain of whitepox being developed up here and unleashed on underground New Ebott. People live in the Concourse, too: the leaders of the surface-based corps, the students at Arbor University, a community of politicians or tycoons who've amassed enough money and influence to reverse the usual pattern and live up here, then work underground during the day. Compared to downtown New Ebott, the Concourse feels like a different world; compared to the old-fashioned atmosphere of the Courtyard it feels like a different universe.

Sasha's head lolls; she'd consider it shameful to complain, but her exhaustion is evident. "Just hang on a little longer," you whisper to her, holding her hand and patting it. 

"I hope you know what you're doing," she answers in a strained whisper.

You hope so too. After all, Narcissus Hospital is for the exclusive use of surface residents; you're about to make some rather contorted arguments to try to prove that Sasha deserves to be admitted. As you get off the tram and push her into the hospital, you start to feel worse and worse about your chances. Noticing that some of the computing tech that your father once worked on is still in use helps to cheer you up. A general feeling of paranoia that the magic keeping the surface afloat may one day start to fail has inspired the development of technology far beyond what's available in the underground, such as the terminal from which the man at the front desk is retrieving your sister's records. After almost six years, it's a wonder to you, but staring at the screen is just another day at work to him.

Mercifully, the arrangement takes less time than you expected. The two of you might not be living on the surface anymore, but the hospital agreed to make an exception for Sasha, because of her age, the fact that she was born on the surface and because she was innocent of all involvement in your family's troubles. There's also the matter of that highly convincing envelope full of money. As you'd hoped, there was enough there to pay not just for her medicine and care, but also for the brand-new, experimental treatments that are only available on the surface. 

You've heard that the new treatments are very nearly a miracle cure for whitepox. Any news from the surface is always highly exaggerated by the time it hits the underworld, and you know that this is hardly guaranteed to save her; one of the doctors is willing to give you about fifty-fifty odds, although something about the set of her mouth indicates that this is optimistic. Still, you've got the money, and this is your only chance to try.

Before long, Sasha is settled in a private room with a view of a little garden and the walls of the Courtyard in the distance, with a stack of books and magazines on the end table next to her bed. She watches a kid on crutches make his way around the perimeter of the garden, then looks back at you, smiling. "Told you I'd be seeing the sunshine soon." She'd said that three days ago. You've learned to pay attention when Sasha makes predictions like that. Of course, you'd thought it meant she was about to die.

"Right as usual," you say with a forced grin.

She narrows her eyes at you, frowning. "So. You remember my brain's still fine, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't buy the story about the frozen account. It'd have been seized, too." 

"Do you _want_ someone to overhear you?" you hiss, and she looks taken aback, unused to hearing anger in your voice. You catch yourself and continue in a normal whisper, " _They_ bought it. That's how it needs to stay." 

"'Cause they wouldn't take your money if they knew you were a dirty criminal, right?" she whispers back, smiling weakly. 

"Exactly," you say with a wry grin. "You're here now, Sasha," you continue, your voice softening. "That's _all_ that matters to me."

She frowns. "You didn't seriously rob a bank, did you? I thought you were kidding..." she whispers. 

You lean forward, smiling conspiratorially. "Told you from the beginning. You're the one who didn't believe me."

She rolls her eyes. "You're probably the getaway driver, right?"

"Nope. Safecracker. Then I had a teller give me some lip and -- bam!" You pretend to shoot her with your index fingers, and she laughs and coughs at the same time, then closes her eyes and lolls her tongue out to the side, clutching her heart.

She opens one eye and looks at you. "Come on... like you'd even _touch_ a gun. Where _did_ you get this much money?" she asks in a whisper.

"Please let me worry about that," you whisper back, holding her hand. "Your job is just to get better."

If she hadn't been so tired out by her illness and the strenuous move from the underground hospital to this one, she certainly would have pushed back. Should she last long enough to ask again, you'll have to come up with a better story. What if she guesses? She's fifteen and understands the concept of prostitution. She knows you were fired and ran through your savings, although you've kept her ignorant of the full extent of the debt you've run up. She could very well realize you're selling yourself, but she'd be shocked if she knew it was to some sort of gangster skeleton monster. She's been in the underworld since she was nine, and although like you she's always been rather curious about monsters, she's also absorbed some of the common prejudice against them. Still, she has fond memories of the skeleton monster the two of you once met, which will help if you ever have to explain your situation.

You sigh. There's no point in borrowing trouble when this last-ditch effort may be too late. You didn't know you'd be able to do this when you started working for Muffet. You only hoped to move Sasha to a hospital that wasn't overcrowded and understaffed and ensure that she got the medication -- or at least the painkillers -- she needed. Then, all of a sudden, you had a chance to actually do what you'd only fantasized about: take a cartoonishly large bundle of cash up to the surface and use it to provide her with comfort and the most advanced treatments available.

You return underground in the afternoon, ready to search for the apartment where you'll be meeting Sans, and as it happens you already know what you want. When you were walking to the library the previous week, you'd noticed a sign advertising a vacancy in an apartment building near there that you'd always liked the looks of. You'd spent half the walk daydreaming about a scenario that you knew would never happen: moving there when Sasha got out of the hospital. Meeting a skeleton monster there for clandestine sex hadn't figured into your daydreams, but it's a pleasing fantasy of a different sort. 

You allow your gloomy thoughts about your sister to be chased away by memories of the previous night. In your week spent working for Muffet you'd always been quite aware you were doing a job, smiling through fumbling explorations of your body and innocent questions about humans that bordered on offensive. But with Sans, you'd somehow been able to forget everything that hurt and lose yourself in physical pleasure. He strikes you as someone with a complicated life; you think it likely that you'd allowed him to lose himself, too, and the thought of having such a drastic effect on him that he set up this arrangement with you gives you a warm, fluttery feeling in your tummy.

You're able to tour the vacant apartment; it's everything you'd hoped for and conforms to Sans' requirements, so you go ahead and sign the lease. You return to the library to type out a letter and envelope to Sans, then tape the key to the letter and put it in the mailbox right as the mailman is coming by for the final collection of the day.

It's a disappointment to walk back to your own apartment. You make your way past vacant lots overgrown with the kind of squat weeds that thrive in the low light of the underworld, ignoring the catcalls from the clusters of low-level gangsters and hangers-on that roam your neighborhood. You avoid walking by the soup kitchen where you and Sasha once volunteered. Sasha liked to lord it over you that she was allowed to help cook, while your incompetence in the kitchen relegated you to ladling out soup and washing dishes. In the last few months you've been in need of charity yourself, and you've been too ashamed to admit it to any of your acquaintances there. Instead, you take the path through the nearby park. You've always liked living near it, with its rather nice rock arrangements and a swimming pool, but having seen the extravagant surface gardens so recently spoils it in your eyes, and you resent your past life for interfering with your enjoyment of one of the little pleasures you've found underground.

It's late by the time you reach your own apartment building. You've timed it just right, you think with satisfaction as you flop down on your couch: you've settled both your sister and the apartment, but any later and it'd have been unsafe to walk alone outside by yourself. You used to work as a secretary at a construction company, and this apartment's draw was its privacy and how close it was to your work. Not that that's a factor anymore. You wish you could say it was a relief to get home, but it seems so empty, with the blankets of Sasha's top bunkbed smooth and cold and reminders of her everywhere, such as the little figurines that she likes to buy you for your birthday. It's a one-bedroom basement apartment with tiny, rectangular windows near the top of the wall, and it's nowhere near as nice -- or soundproof, as your amorous neighbors remind you -- as the one you've just rented. You probably won't have to share that one with silverfish the size of hamsters, either, you think as you whack one with a shoe, or at least maybe you can get Sans to kill them. You wonder what his place is like: given the kind of money he's been throwing around, it must be incredibly comfortable.

The next morning, you go up to the surface again to check on your sister. Word about the two of you returning to the surface must have already spread, because people on the tramway and light rail keep looking over at you and whispering. You knew this was what you were in for, but it doesn't make it any easier. Attracting attention in this way brings back some traumatic memories, and it's more difficult to summon your father's sang-froid. Well, to protect your sister you've falsified new identities for the two of you, fled a gang war and fucked a spider monster. If all that wasn't enough to make you jump off the Silver Cloud Bridge, then you can endure this, too.

At the hospital, you search Sasha's face for any signs of improvement, but you know it's still too early to see anything. Her doctor had told you out of her hearing that she may have started the new treatments too late, but the situation is by no means hopeless. You'll take that over "about to die" any day. Plus, it warms your heart to see her without that little twist at the corner of her mouth that means she's in pain and determined not to let it show.

"These painkillers they put me on are _amazing_ ," Sasha says, a blissful expression on her face. "Kinda funny... You remember how mad you got at me just for trying one little cigarette? Then you brought me up here so I could die a drug addict." She smiles, clearly amused by her own wit.

"I didn't do all this so you could _die_ on me," you answer sharply. 

"You gonna tell me what you _did_ do yet?" she says, raising an eyebrow.

You shrug.

She considers this, then narrows her eyes at you. "You probably case the banks beforehand, right? Try to figure out what the best time to hit'em is, where the escape routes are, which tellers are likely to fold and which might try to fight back instead."

"I get the bank managers good and drunk. Then I tickle them until they tell me the codes to open the vault doors."

She giggles as if it's the funniest thing she's ever heard. Then she studies your face, her expression openly curious. You can tell that she's trying to figure you out. She likes to think of herself as the firecracker sister and you as the cream puff. Then you go and do some damn thing like storm paradise with an envelope full of dirty money to try to keep her alive, and she has to reevaluate her image of her gentle, rather straight-laced older sister. It's not the first time you've surprised her. 

She stares out the window. After a minute, she says "I keep wondering... what it's like in _there_ , now."

She's looking at the walls of the Courtyard. You wince. You'd asked for a room on the opposite side of the hospital, but supposedly there weren't any. You'd like to think they weren't so petty as to want to remind the two of you of your past, but that would be a rather surface-style insult.

"Probably about the same," you say lightly. "Stuffy and full of jerks."

She giggles. "Probably." She closes her eyes and is quiet for so long that you think she's fallen asleep. But she whispers. "I miss Mama and Papa and Matty."

"Me too." You never technically lost the right to go up to the surface, but it was made abundantly clear you were no longer welcome inside the Courtyard. It's not that there's anyone inside you'd like to see again. Quite the opposite; there was a time where you frequently indulged in pleasant and rather detailed daydreams about a raging wildfire consuming everything on that side of the wall. Still, you wish you could at least visit the spot where the ashes of your parents and brother were scattered.

"Can you sing Mama's lullaby?" Sasha requests, her voice faint.

You take her hand.

♪ Wrap you up in seas of stars, moon is shining bright...  
♪ Papa strums his sweet guitar, for his baby's delight...  
♪ Sleep, my darling turtledove, as the jessamine blooms...  
♪ In this garden filled with love, and flowers' sweet perfumes...

You never remember all of the next verse, so you sing the first one several times, then hum it. Before long, Sasha is asleep. You curl up in your chair, knees tucked under your chin and arms wrapped around your legs, and look over at her. Tears come to your eyes, and you try to distract yourself with good memories, then physical pain, pinching the skin between your finger and thumb. It doesn't work, and you sob openly, overwhelmed by fear for your sister, painfully beautiful memories of your past and the feeling that you're reliving the most traumatic days of your life.

Not only does Sasha mean everything to you, it's because of your pride that she had to live in the slums of New Ebott in the first place, instead of growing up surrounded by greenery and elegance. So you believe it's only right to sell yourself to try to turn things around for her... or at least give her a little more time to enjoy the sun shining through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Sans, I don't play fair; Reader's world is a little bigger than the apartment. Apologies for taking so long to put up this chapter, and then only mentioning Sans second-hand... We'll be seeing him again soon.
> 
> In any case, meet Sasha; whitepox is described in my notes as a "convenient" illness and I hope to be forgiven this contrivance. I envision it as some sort of ungodly cross between shingles and tuberculosis.
> 
> Am I the only one amused by the idea of Sans with a human fetish? I'm sure there's Sans/Reader fics where Reader is a monster, but it seems to me like the majority of Readers are humans. In my imagination, the accumulated weight of all this attraction to humans in other universes has an effect on him in this one. So yes, Sans has a human fetish because I think it's funny. It's not the first writing decision I've made solely to amuse myself and won't be the last.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's waited for Chapter 4 so patiently; I am never going to promise a regular updating schedule but Chapter 5 won't take nearly so long to show up. I've been working on transforming what I had from a improbable collection of sex scenes and fluff into an actual story, and I couldn't do it without my fantastic beta reader peonylanterns. When a complete stranger dumped more than 230 pages of half-baked Sans/Reader smut on her and asked for a little input, she would have been well within her rights to run away screaming. Instead, she's been going through it carefully, making fantastic suggestions and asking me the questions I needed to think through to make the world make sense. She is an excellent writer herself, so [go check her out too](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns).
> 
> Speaking of which, I've made a number of minor changes to the world and timeline as a result of this process. A few things in chapters 1-3 have been edited as a result, but none of the changes are particularly jarring. District 6 was now destroyed further back in the past, making Reader a few years older, I've figured out exactly what form the shuttle to the surface takes and so on. It shouldn't require re-reading, but hey, if you want to revisit the sex scenes or Sans buying Reader some Nice Cream I certainly support that. I've also added a couple of tags about possibly upsetting stuff although it won't come into play for several chapters now.
> 
> I've got a tumblr now, not that I really do much with it: [http://neroli9.tumblr.com/](http://neroli9.tumblr.com)


	5. a jumbo box of condoms, high heels and whipped cream (explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's celebrate Reader's industriousness, this chapter, with this big-band jazz version of ["Whistle While You Work."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=taGRCm_bcj0)

After visiting your sister on the surface, you return to the apartment where you'll be meeting Sans, nearly skipping up three flights of stairs and feeling a thrill of delight as you walk through the door. There was a time where you seemed to have the worst luck of anyone in the Courtyard, and coming underground hardly improved your situation. Maybe after all these years your luck is finally starting to turn around. 

You admire the apartment; as small as it is, it's still bigger than yours, and it has comfortable amenities like windows. It has one bedroom, a bathroom and a living room that's open to the kitchen. 

There's a red notebook on the kitchen counter. You make a beeline for it, opening it up to find a note from Sans in cartoonish print, dated to this morning.

\- heya.

\- great place you found, just what i was hoping for. the only other thing i need is a phone line, and i'll pick up something to play some music. arrange the rest as you like. here's a little more to make it cozy for you. 

He's tucked a substantial amount of cash into the notebook. 'A little more'? He must be joking. Does he have any conception of what furniture _costs_? Once you're done shopping, your own apartment is going to look like a junkyard.

\- once you've had whatever furniture you want delivered, i'll fix up some safeguards to keep the place secure. nothing you'll even notice, just for my own peace of mind.

\- i'd like to meet you tomorrow evening to go over how this is going to work. what time would be best for you?

You'd rather not meet him too late, as you'll still have to walk home, so you write:

\- How about at five? I'll furnish the place today and tomorrow. Again, please let me know if there's anything you'd like me to buy.

You envision where you'll place the furniture as you inspect the empty living room. A couch here, a little table there, maybe a bookcase against the wall. Then you head to the bedroom and picture a nice big bed by the window. A fluttering feeling in your tummy accompanies thoughts of what you'll be doing in that bed soon enough. There's a walk-in closet as well, which you imagine turning into a secret cave of call girl clothing. The bathroom is so much nicer than yours that it makes you wish you lived here; in your basement apartment, no amount of bleach conquers that musty smell for long, but you can imagine leisurely bubble baths here after your sessions with Sans. There's no wall between the living room and the kitchen, making the area feel bigger than it is. The kitchen seems serviceable, but you're not a good judge of kitchens. You were eighteen years old by the time you were expected to feed yourself, and you never did get the hang of cooking.

You take a portion of the money and go on a shopping spree, picking out furniture and having it delivered. You'd like to get something to make Sans feel welcome, but the only thing you really know about him is that he likes alcohol, and you'd prefer not to be involved with buying that. You also get that phone line connected, and you admire the phone you bought, running your fingers over the receiver with a grin. You don't have one in your apartment. By the time you've finished shopping and arranging furniture, you're exhausted, and you make your way back to what now feels like a rather disappointing little apartment.

As much as you'd like to spend the next morning checking on Sasha again, you instead use the time to buy things such as bedclothes, curtains and lamps. By the afternoon the place looks quite nice, and you regard it with satisfaction. You've arranged it just how you wanted it, with a nice big bed, a comfy couch, and a small table with two chairs. The general effect is tasteful but bland, something like a model apartment, but that's fine with you. It's not like you'll be living here, and it'll be easier to keep clean. You presume that's part of what you're being paid for, although you do enjoy imagining Sans vacuuming in his three-piece suit. You'd bought some snacks, and when you put them in the pantry, you notice he's stocked the place with liquor. It's alcohol produced by the monster gangs, all labeled "Bottled Expressly For Medicinal Use." There's a bottle of amber liquid labeled 'Core's Best Whiskey' which you think is what you had with Sans last time, a tall bottle of sky blue liquid labeled 'Echo Wine' with a picture of an echo flower on it, and several dark bottles labeled "Magic Bullet Beer". 

It's only fitting that an apartment rented as a meeting place for illegal sex should have illegal monster liquor in the pantry. You've created a den of iniquity, you think to yourself with a smile. Perhaps you should have furnished it more like an opium den than a model apartment, not that you are all that familiar with the decor of opium dens. He must have been by, so you open the notebook back up.

\- looks great. i've set up those safeguards, so don't have anything else delivered.

\- see you at five -- looking forward to it.

His approval gives you a little flush of pleasure, which is intensified when you find that he's stocked the bathroom with a set of toiletries. There's shampoo, conditioner, soap, lotion and bubble bath, beautifully packaged and several times much nicer than you would have bought for yourself. They must be for you, you think, as it's not like he needs shampoo. You investigate them, luxuriating in the rich scents, thrilled by the gesture. It _probably_ doesn't mean he thinks you're a stinky human, you think with a grin as you rub some of the lotion into your hands. Oh, it's been years since you've even _felt_ anything so wonderful on your skin... 

Time was, you would anoint yourself with such luxuries without once considering anything so mundane as their cost or how they were produced and brought to the Courtyard. You'd prepare yourself so carefully for parties and important events... and then invariably find some way to embarrass yourself at them. Invitations to high-class parties have somehow been thin on the ground since you arrived underground, and whenever you felt sad about this, the first few years, you would remind yourself of the times you'd come home in tears, swearing you'd never leave your room again. To say nothing of that time it was your mother promising you'd never leave your room again... Nine years, now, and the memory of her searing anger still makes you flinch. 

Well, that's a hell of a thing for such a nice gift to make you remember, you think with a wry grin. Noticing a little gift-wrapped box with your assumed name on it distracts you from your memories. Another present? This is all quite generous, considering what a ridiculously large envelope of money he handed you. It's an elegant glass bottle of perfume, which you hold up to the light, then spray on your wrists. It's fantastic, with a delicate jasmine fragrance. The packaging claims that it's made with natural extracts; the flowers were almost certainly grown with the new greenhouse and grow light technology, meaning that this perfume must have been extraordinarily expensive. He must have bought this downtown, you think. You didn't think monsters even _went_ downtown; perhaps the police aren't so keen to hassle particularly rich monsters who happen to look like the Grim Reaper.

You hold your wrist to your nose, breathing deeply. You're reminded powerfully of the garden you spent so much time in when you were young, with Sasha getting into your art supplies when you weren't looking and Mattias reading books about mythology. You also still faintly smell Sans' sharp, clean magic on your skin, almost like an undertone. 

You've already brought your clothes and makeup over to the apartment, because you'd prefer your new neighbors not see you looking like a hooker. You prepare for your meeting with a light heart, whistling a tune as you change out of your sensible dress into a skirt and blouse set that's a little more risqué and apply your makeup at your beautiful new vanity. Once you're arranged to perfection, you sit on the couch and read a mystery novel, although you keep glancing from your book to the front door.

A little after five, Sans strolls out of the bedroom. Your book tumbles to the floor as you clap your hands over your mouth, stifling a scream. He leans against the wall, grinning at you. "told ya i can get around."

"Sans! How -- how did you --?"

He gestures around the apartment. "found a shortcut here. came straight from the east side. handy, huh?"

"What do you _mean_ you found a shortcut?"

He vanishes and you feel the couch cushion next to you sink. He's there next to you, grinning. You gasp, recoiling, and he grins at you. "see? another shortcut."

You put a hand over your heart, trying to collect yourself. "Show me again," you ask in a small voice.

He vanishes, and you locate him leaning against the kitchen counter. "there ya go."

"So that's how you were doing it!"

"what'd you think? i had some sort of super speed?"

"Something like that..."

"been reading too many human comic books," he says with a wink, walking back over toward you.

"Like teleportation isn't a super power... Can you go _anywhere_?"

"just about." He offers you his hand and says "here. lemme show ya."

You nearly leap from the couch and take his hand.

The scene changes, and you're outside, concrete under your feet and your skin tingling all over. It feels like having your leg fall asleep, only the sensation reaches to such improbable places as your ears and passes quickly. There's almost no light, and it doesn't register how far off the ground you are until you look over the edge of the building. You gasp and your hand squeezes his so firmly that if he was human, he would certainly complain. He's still wearing his coat and hat, but you're shivering in your thin blouse and a skirt that you've altered to be rather shorter than it used to be. "Where _are_ we?"

"a rooftop in my home district. see, look around."

There's buildings, bright lights, a nightclub, several monsters and even a few humans far below. You've walked down this very street, you realize. A green fire monster and a monster with a large square head lean over a bakery window, pointing at fanciful pastries, and three large white-furred monsters, plus a brown-haired human, stroll along the sidewalk. In the distance is the brilliantly lit park where you met Sans a few days ago; you even spot the pond ringed with echo flowers and the Nice Cream vendor. The surface looms above you, and you smile as you think about Sasha being somewhere over your head right now. "It'd take me two taxi rides to get here... And you can just go anywhere you want?"

"anywhere down here."

Not to the surface, that is. There really is only one way for a monster to get up there, you think, shivering. "So that's why you had me handle the apartment... No one will ever see you enter or exit. Right?"

"exactly. if nothing ever links you to me, it'd be impossible to track you down. now. ready?" 

You wonder how many people are going to want to track you down, but you just nod. The scene changes again, and you're back in your new apartment, shivering.

"well. there you have it," he says, grinning. 

"One of your secrets revealed," you say, smiling back.

"secrets? me?" He raises an eyebrow. "skeletons don't have secrets. ya know why?"

"Why?"

"'cause you can see right through us."

Taken by surprise by his joke, you laugh more than it actually warranted. He says "eh, it wasn't THAT funny," but his smile is satisfied.

You sit down on the couch, and he takes off his coat and hat and then his jacket, tossing them over the back of one of the chairs. You look around the living room as he unstraps his holster and adds it to the pile. He sits near you, turning the other chair around and leaning against the back. "so. ya find the stuff i gotcha?"

You beam. "Yes, thank you! It smells so good! I can't wait to use it."

He grins. "picked it up from a human store. gal who rung me up, she holds up the shampoo and she's like, what do you need THIS for? i shrugged, said, my hair gets all greasy. but skeletons don't HAVE hair, she says. and i gave her a big wink and said, not where YOU can see." 

* _then i thought, that almost sounds like the old sans, where'd he come from?_

You dissolve in giggles. "She must have just died," you manage to get out.

"i coulda followed it up with a jumbo box of condoms, a pair of high heels and a can of whipped cream and i wouldn'ta heard a peep from her," he answers with a wink. He scans the room. "this really is a great little place. works for you?"

"Works perfectly for me," you say, looking around. Now that you're here with someone else, it feels a lot less lonely than your own apartment does.

"well. good, 'cause you'll be spending a lot of time here. this is what i want from ya." He puts his arms over the back of the chair and rests his chin on them, studying you. "like i said, i'm a freelancer, and i keep odd hours. i can't say i'll always be here at some particular time. and even if i wrote to you in the morning that i'd be here at night, it might not actually work out that way. so, here's what i think would work. you show up here for some amount of time, same time, same days. if i can, i'll meet you. if i don't show, the time's all yours. what do you think?"

You think it sounds lonely, but you say "That would be fine."

"i was thinking five days a week. give ya a couple days off. and i'm unlikely to visit all five days, every week." You nod. "so... what time works for you?"

"Late afternoon, early evening. I have commitments in the morning," you say, thinking of how long it takes to get downtown, then to the surface and back, "and I don't want to get home too late. My neighborhood isn't as nice as this one," you say with a shrug.

You can tell he doesn't like that, but he nods. "so... how 'bout between four and seven?"

"Works for me."

"if i think i'm going to be able to make it, or know i probably can't, i'll pop by and write it down," he says. "but i'd like you to come each day even if i write that i probably can't make it. 'cause maybe the situation will change and i'd like to meet you after all. will you do that?"

"You're the one paying me to sit in a nice apartment for three hours," you point out, shrugging.

He grins. "true enough. an' i reserve the right to keep you a little late every so often. but i'll try to respect your time."

"I appreciate that."

He gestures at the telephone. "phone's for me, not you. it's a little on the overcautious side but i don't want anyone figuring we share a phone number. i don't expect to use it much, god knows i won't be wasting my time talking to anyone else when i'm here. it's in case there's some sorta emergency."

"What if there's an emergency for me?"

He frowns. "ya think there might be?"

An image of your sister's sunken face pops into your head. "Yeah..."

He considers this. "well, I'm only giving the number to a couple of people. so if you don't spread it all around town i don't mind you using it. would you feel better if you could give it to one person?"

"That would be all I'd need," you say, nodding.

"sure. that's fair enough. also, no point in you getting all dolled up like that if i don't show," he says, gesturing to you. "so just make yourself comfortable, and if i end up coming to see ya, then you can tart yourself up for me."

Sans clearly doesn't know how human makeup works, although he shares this in common with most human men. "I'm not sure you know what you're saying," you say, raising your eyebrows. "It takes a while to get ready. You'll end up waiting for over a half hour."

"worth it," he says with a grin. "you'll just get frustrated if you always have to get all fixed up even when i'm not gonna show. but i do like the idea of you getting fixed up."

"That's fine with me," you say, nodding.

He looks concerned as he continues "something else i was thinking about, this might get tough for you. 'cause for your safety, the only way we'll communicate is through that notebook. so it might be hard, if you think i'm gonna be here and i don't show. or if i don't write anything down, and you don't know if i'll come or not. or if for some reason you don't hear from me for a week. do you think you can deal with that? or are you gonna be worried i'm dying in an alley somewhere the whole time?"

You look down. "I think I can handle uncertainty." Like whether your sister is going to be alive or dead each morning. You're coping so far.

* _something stressful going on in her life, probably connected to her recent foray into prostitution._

* _not my business._

"good. then... you're scared of guns, aren't you? i can leave mine at home if it'd be easier on you."

You're surprised he noticed, but you shrug. "I can get used to it. It's not a big deal."

"you sure? leaving it at my place isn't a big deal either."

"Don't worry about it..." If you're going to be selling yourself to someone who carries a gun, you'd better learn not to be squeamish about it.

He nods. "if you say so. then, think we've got everything settled. any questions?"

"Which days are my days off?"

"got a preference?"

You consider this. "I don't, as long as my mornings are open. Which days are you more likely to be free?"

"ya asking because you want those to be your days off?" he says, grinning. 

You feel your cheeks heating up. "Other way around," you say quickly. "I'm not trying to cheat you."

He looks amused as he answers "i know. let's just give ya the weekend then. keep it simple."

"That's fine. And... you said you set up safeguards. What's that all about?"

"sure, it's kind of a magical alert system. you'll always be able to get in and out, but anyone else would need me with them. and i'll know if someone tries to get in, or break in, and would be able to track them. basic stuff."

"Doesn't sound basic."

There's something smug about his grin as he answers "relatively basic. also went ahead and made the place soundproof. don't want to get the neighbors' attention."

Part of you wonders if you'd regret that, if no one can hear you scream. Part of you considers asking him to do the same for your apartment. But you just say "That's amazing that you can do all that."

"eh, i've gotten pretty creative with my magic use, past few years," he says, but he looks pleased. "anything else?"

"You said you were going to get something to play some music?"

"yeah," he says, and if he had eyes, you think they'd be glittering. "got something specific in mind, but i haven't convinced the guy to sell yet. gimme a couple of days to soften him up."

"All right. Then... no more questions."

"great. now, one more question for you... you want i should keep using the name you chose when ya started doing this?"

Is that just a wordy way of asking 'what's your real name?' You wonder if he knows it already: if he can teleport, it would have been trivial for him to follow you home. In any case, you prefer to have the layer between the you that he knows, the call girl who's selling herself to a gangster skeleton monster, and the you who you live with in your head. And despite the exorbitant and highly flattering outlay of money required to get to this point, really all he knows about you is that you like Nice Creams and that the two of you are remarkably compatible in bed.

"I do," you say. "Is that all right?"

He nods. "'course. i understand. now we've got that all out of the way, ya want a drink?"

"Yes, thank you, but... I didn't really like what I tried last time."

"not much of a drinker, are ya?"

"Well, it _is_ illegal... But so's hooking. So what else do you have?"

He chuckles as he stands up. "sure. lemme see how ya like echo wine..." He pours a bit of the sky blue drink in a glass for you, then opens a beer for himself and brings the drinks back. This time, he sits on the couch next to you.

"well. here's to lotsa good times in this little place," he says, holding up his bottle. You clink glasses with him, then take a sip. The echo wine doesn't seem very strong, and it's sweet and tangy. He grins, watching your reaction. "better?"

"I really like it," you say, smiling.

"thought ya might, human women tend to. wanna try the beer?" he asks, holding his bottle out to you. "see if you say what most humans say when they taste it."

You take a sip, then return it to him, making a face. "Tastes like medicine."

He chuckles. "yep. there's some humans that love it but most of'em prefer their own stuff. dunno why, human beer smells like bread to me." 

You hold up your glass. "Is this really made of echo flowers?"

"nah, it's just the name. on account of the color, and it's supposed to make ya chatty. is it working?"

"Maybe," you say with a smile.

"good." He takes a swig of his beer, then leans closer to you. "you smell fantastic."

"It's that perfume you got me," you say, beaming. "Here..." You turn your wrist up and offer it to him. He looks at it, tilting his head to the side and frowning. "You're supposed to smell it."

"huh." He takes another swig of his beer, then sets it on the coffee table and holds the back of your wrist in his hand, bringing his head down to it. He takes a deep breath, then lets go. "wow. it really works on ya. why do you put it on your wrist?"

"It's a pulse point. The skin is a little hotter there, it activates the perfume."

"oh, that makes sense. i've seen humans check someone's wrist for a pulse before. didn't know that's what you did with that stuff, though. i had some idea it went directly on the clothes." He looks over at you. "can i try feeling your pulse?"

"If you like," you say. 

He puts his fingers right on the middle of your wrist where the veins look most prominent, pressing down lightly, then moving them up and down. There's a clinical detachment in his manner, as if he's studying you.

"Not there," you say, demonstrating with your own fingers where to feel your pulse. "Right here. Press down with two fingers."

He follows your lead, and his eye sockets widen slightly as he finds the right spot. "now i feel it..."

* _her pulse is increasing. is it a fear response or physical arousal?_

* _she's doing remarkably well with me, for a human. maybe it's both._

It feels surprisingly intimate having your heartbeat flutter under his fingers as he concentrates so intently on you, and you feel blood rising to your cheeks. He feels your heartbeat for a minute, holding your wrist in his other hand, then releases you. "thanks."

"Anytime," you say, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. You hurry to another conversation topic. "I was surprised you were so good at picking out perfumes."

"eh, mostly just let the gal at the perfume counter sell me on something," he says, shrugging.

* _i thought, what seems right for a playful, sensual little human gal like her?_

* _smelled about a dozen strips of paper, while the shopgirl bit her tongue the whole time trying not to ask me how i could smell anything._

"This is probably a silly question, but... how can you smell things?"

* _humans crack me up._

His grin widens. "thing i want to know is, how can you live without magic? you've gotta cope with all these specialized systems in your body to do every tiny thing my magic handles for me. and they're going haywire all the time." He gestures with his bottle of beer as he continues "hell, look at this whitepox stuff you humans gotta deal with. one little virus goes 'round and half the city's outta commission."

You grimace. "No kidding."

* _i probably shouldn't be so casual about that, she clearly has firsthand experience with it._

* _of course, the way things have been the last few months, it'd be more surprising if she didn't know anyone who'd had whitepox._

You push thoughts of your sister out of your mind and ask "So the answer is basically magic?"

"that's usually the case, with us monsters. guess it seems strange to you? i have all the same senses you do, just without any visible way of registering input. i've even got something similar to your heartbeat."

"I noticed that," you say, nodding. "That's magic too?"

"it's literally my magic animating my body. it feels different for every monster. here." He takes your hand and holds it over his sternum, pushing his tie to the side. Even through the fabric of his shirt, you can feel a strong, rhythmic thump, more like a drumbeat than a heartbeat. You've felt something similar on other monsters, but it's always seemed more like a gentle rush or a murmur. "and it intensifies with my body's response to stimuli, like your heartbeat does. feel it again sometime after i fuck you," he says with a wink.

The casual reference to the whole purpose of this arrangement turns you on, and you look down demurely, smiling, before raising your eyes back to meet his gaze. "And it feels so strong, because your magic is so strong?" you ask.

"bingo." He grins. "you're really paying attention, yeah?" He lets go of your hand, and you take it back, sipping your drink.

"You _are_ pretty chatty in bed." 

Sans chuckles. "never found a gal who listens to all the crazy shit i say in bed as well as you do. you try calling most human women a dirty fucking human, and nine outta ten of them, they'll say, who do you think you are, you creepy fucking monster? and i think, well, crud, she's got a point." He shrugs and takes a swig of his beer.

"What does the tenth one say?"

"tenth one might be a monster fetishist. but that always kinda weirds me out," he says, making a dismissive gesture. "that's not your deal though, is it?"

"Not really," you say, shaking your head. "Although..." You finish your drink and put down your cup, placing your hand back on his sternum and leaning toward him. "I _do_ like it when you call me a dirty fucking human," you say in a low voice.

Sure enough, you feel the thump in his bones intensify, and he gives you a challenging look as he sets down his beer. "yeah, well. that's 'cause you know your fucking place."

You look at him through your eyelashes, smiling. "Underneath you, I suppose?"

He climbs on top of you, sinking you down into the couch cushions. He presses his mouth on your lips, and his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring it. The possessive way he's kissing you turns you on, and you wrap your arms around his rib cage, arching your back and returning the kiss. He breaks away, looking down at you with a superior smile. "goddamn right this is your place. ya know why?"

"Why?"

"because you actually went and SOLD yourself to a twisted fucker like me. that's had me turned on since the last time i saw ya." He runs his fingers down the side of your face, then holds your jaw delicately. "knowin' i own a pretty gal like you."

You catch your breath and squirm underneath him, touching his spine through his shirt. He looks at you speculatively. "yeah, sweetheart. you heard me. the moment you took that deal, you belonged to me. and trust me, i'm not letting ya forget it."

"I'm not about to," you say in a low voice, exploring the bones of his neck vertebrae.

"too damn right you won't. because i think..." His voice trails off, and he studies your face. Then he grins. "i think when we're in bed... you'll be calling me master. understood?"

Your stomach feels like it's flipping around in your tummy, and you breathe in sharply. "I... Yes, master," you whisper, trying it out on your tongue. You press yourself up against him, kissing his cheekbone, your eyes closed.

He chuckles. "oh, you REALLY like that, don't you? perfect." He brings his head close to yours, whispering in your ear. "how's it feel? having a master?"

"A little scary," you confess as he nuzzles at your temple, then starts to lick your earlobe and the back of your ear. You shiver and hold onto his shoulder blades as you continue "I feel like... I wonder what you're going to want to do to me. And I'm curious and scared and turned on at the same time."

"oh, i got LOTS of things i want to do to you," he whispers. You feel his magic starting to spread over your neck and jaw, and you swallow. His hand presses down slightly on the side of your neck. "i've been waiting for this moment ever since ya took the deal... wondering what it's gonna be like to fuck a human who sold herself to me." His tongue runs down your jawline, then back up to your ear, and you shiver as he continues "i'm thinking... i'm gonna start by getting right up on top of you and fucking your mouth. ya ready?"

You nod. He presses down a little harder on your neck, eyeing you. "try again, girl."

"Yes, master," you whisper.

"that's more like it." He straddles your chest, grinning down at you. Then he stops short. "haven't even got your damn clothes off yet. you see what you do to me? i can't think straight." His magic vanishes, and he climbs off of you. He leans over and unbuttons your blouse with practiced fingers. "sit up," he orders as he takes off his pants. You do so, pulling off your blouse and unhooking your bra for him. He slides it off your shoulders, then uses his fingertips to lightly push you back down onto the couch. "that's better," he says with satisfaction as he straddles your chest again. "love feeling your tits pressed up against my pelvis like this." You rather like the sensation of his bones against your skin by now, but having his bare pelvis pushing down directly on your breasts feels less than comfortable. You don't mention that. At least you bought a really nice couch. 

He looks down at you as he forms his cock in his hand. "tell me how much you want my cum."

"I can't wait," you purr. "I love to feel your magic in me, when you light me up..."

"that's what I like to hear," he says, holding the back of your head and bringing his cock to your lips. "now get to work."

You part your lips, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock before he thrusts it in your mouth. You like giving blowjobs because they reduce your partner to a state of quivering pliancy you find rather endearing, but on your back like this, with Sans holding your head in position, you feel like every bit of control has been stolen from you. That's the point, you suppose.

You breathe deeply through your nose, starting to suck hard and trying to regain some of your equilibrium. He chuckles, looking down at you. "not so easy like this, is it girl?" You make a noise of agreement. "that's just what i want. 'cause i wanna make damn sure you understand what it means to have me as your master."

Oh, you understand all right, your vulva feeling tight and slick as you get wet. The way he looms above you makes him look frightening, and you close your eyes and tighten your lips around his cock, sliding your tongue up and down the shaft. He pushes your head to his pelvis with a firm hand, making you feel both supported and thrown off balance at once, and you cling to his leg bones to try to stabilize yourself as he uses your mouth. He growls and starts to breathe harder, and he thrusts his pelvis into your face, pushing right up against your lips.

You grasp his leg bone and start to explore his pelvis, running your fingers over the rounded top of his hip bone, then around the large hole in the middle. He groans and thrusts harder, keeping you all the more off balance. You curl your fingers around his tail bone, and you feel him respond, pulling at the hair on the back of your head. You attempt a jacking off motion on the bone, nearly crushing it in your hand, and he gasps, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. "oh god, girl. whatever the fuck you're doing, keep it up." You feel his magic starting to caress your face and envelop your skin. Its intensity increases as you pump his tailbone even faster and suck harder, desperate to please him. 

His magic slides down your legs and you shift around underneath him, aching to be filled up. It spreads over your thighs and belly before it slips underneath your underwear, stimulating the insides of your thighs and your outer labia. You gasp, spreading your legs, and he chuckles, catching your eye. "ya want more, don'tcha?" You make a muffled noise of agreement, and his magic teases your slit then pulls back. "sorry, sweetheart. you're here to concentrate on ME tonight." You whimper, and he leans forward, his grin unbearably smug as he thrusts his pelvis against your lips and you squirm underneath him. "don't get me wrong. i love knowing i can make you come so hard you'll swear off your own goddamn species for me. but you belong to me now, and your JOB is to service me." He pulls his cock out of your mouth, looking down at you imperiously. "whaddya say, girl?"

"Yes, master," you whisper. 

A little shiver of pleasure goes through him, and he leans forward, the shaft of his cock pressing up against your lips. "fuck me. i could really get used to hearing that." He starts to fuck your face with increased intensity, pushing the back of your head to his pelvis and groaning. You smile as you tighten your lips around his shaft and use your tongue to pleasure him. You could rather get used to saying that. You've played around with this sort of domination and submission in bed before, but no one has ever been quite so bold enough to insist on your calling them master. 

His body starts to tense up, and he groans. He must be close, you think, and you suck even harder, your lips pressing up against his pelvis bone with each thrust. You run one hand up and down the base of his spine and rub the very tip of his tailbone with your other hand. He holds the back of your head and leans over you, supporting himself with one arm and pushing your face into his crotch with the other. "you ready for me, you little whore?"

You make a noise that you hope he interprets as agreement, and he growls with satisfaction. "god. i love making you whimper like that. i love all the little noises you make." Hint taken, you think, and you suck on him even more intensely, closing your eyes and making little high-pitched noises. "you sound so pathetic," he snarls, his hand tightening over your hair. "think you're really starting to understand... i fuckin' own you now." 

"Uhm-hum," you mumble again, sliding your hands to his upper legs and curling your fingers around the thick bones as if around the bars of a prison cell. 

"and it's just what you want, isn't it?" he continues, his voice mocking. "having your master use you like this... god... you dirty bitch..." He really does have your number, you think, unable now to do anything but cling to him and endure the brutal force of his thrusts.

He leers down at you, clearly savoring your helplessness and the sight of his cock overpowering your mouth, and you look up at him wide-eyed. He growls "that's right... take your master's cum..." as his magic hits the back of your throat. He groans, his bones digging into you as he forces your face against his pelvis, and you clutch his legs for support and continue sucking until his cock vanishes entirely, breathing through your nose to control your impulse to gag. You swallow his cum as he slides off of you, his face contorted by orgasm. He makes his way to the other side of the couch, where he all but collapses at your feet.

You start to sit up, trying to make some room for him, and he says "nah. here." He pulls your feet onto his lap, then stretches out, resting his head on the back of the couch. It feels surprisingly cozy to be sitting with him like this after he just fucked your face, and you curl and uncurl your toes as he runs his hands languidly over your feet, then relaxes, insensible to the world. Your vulva throbs, and you ache for your own release; he's so far gone he probably wouldn't even notice if you got yourself off, but if he wants to light you up later you suppose you'd better not test that.

That was your first test of being... well, whatever you are now. You wonder if he thinks of you as some sort of personal whore, as a mistress, or just more generally as a human who's now his property for three hours a day. Whichever it is, that was a memorable beginning. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Once upon a time... before your life had fallen apart... you'd mapped out precisely what you wanted to do with yourself when you were older. You'd pictured yourself going to college in the Concourse, studying art, going to plays and concerts, maybe finding a nice husband, setting up housekeeping with him, turning a room of your estate into a studio... You tend to think of your past self as a different person -- a sheltered, idealistic teenager who sometimes peeks at your life, has a fit of the vapors and retreats back into your subconscious. Selling herself to a skeleton monster never once entered into her plans. But Sasha is still alive, you remind yourself reproachfully. She has a chance now. Sans doesn't know or care that's what he's doing for you, but for you, she's all that matters. And as embarrassed as your past self might be to admit it, you damn well enjoyed yourself this evening.

You take the opportunity to study him, looking for clues about what you've gotten yourself into. Human bodies give information about pasts or personalities through hairstyles, scars, muscles and so on, but his bones offer nothing that you can derive meaning from. His clothes reveal plenty about his bank balance but nothing about his personality, and if he's wearing any sort of meaningful trinket or talisman, you've never seen it. His clothes do smell slightly like cigar smoke, as if he smokes occasionally or is often around people that do. Yeah, some detective you are.

You decide that this lack of physical information, his skeletal appearance and the self-possessed, calculating way he behaves are what give the impression of his being powerful, enigmatic and frightening. Given how carefully he planned this arrangement, it's likely that this image is just as carefully planned, and you recall with a smile the times the mask seemed to slip a bit: when he offered you his hand to help you up off the ground, when he was so chagrined that he'd forgotten to pay you, when he told you a joke and gave you a sip of his beer. The first time you'd met him he didn't seem to _have_ a softer side, but he may yet surprise you.

Whatever troubles his complicated life causes him, he's evidently forgotten all of them for the time being. Powerful, enigmatic and frightening he might be, but right now he strikes you as vulnerable. Perhaps after sex is the only time someone like him _can_ be vulnerable, you decide. That might account for his going to all this trouble to set up the arrangement.

"god, that was great," he says after several minutes of recovering, his dark voice made even sexier by physical satisfaction. "you don't know how much i like the idea of knowing you'll be here... waiting for me."

"You are my master, after all," you remind him playfully. 

"damn right," he says, grinning and running his fingers over your toes through your stockings. It tickles, and you giggle, wiggling them.

"you're ticklish?" he says. "that's fucking adorable, how your nervous system is so glitchy." He holds your feet down and tickles you some more, and you squirm and squeal. 

"Oh God, stop," you breathe, and he gives the tops of your feet a pat and releases them. You stretch out, flexing your toes. "Are you ticklish at all?"

"you'll just have to find out for yourself," he says with a wink. "i dunno if i can visit for a couple of days. but give me a little time to get some things settled and then we'll really have some fun." He pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time, then gently pushes your feet to the side and stands up, picking his pants up from the floor. "for now, got a job to deal with." 

You sit up and watch as he pulls on his pants, re-attaches his suspenders and straightens out his vest. He pats himself down, saying "don't even think of getting yourself off until ten. the magic needs to settle in your blood before i can light you up properly."

"Ten o'clock... Got it," you say, nodding.

"i wanna feel you come for me tonight. don't forget."

"I won't."

"good." He gets his holster and jacket from the back of the chair, pulling them on. "well. tomorrow at four. may or may not be there but like i say, i want you waiting for me anyway."

"I will."

"good girl. take care of yourself." He puts on his coat and hat, winks at you and vanishes.

* _fuck, that was fun. now..._

* _how many more times can i bang her before there's a big reset and i forget all about her?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans finally told Reader a joke -- happy? (I know I am.)
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for beta reading!
> 
> I occasionally post at [neroli9.tumblr.com](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/). Come say hi, if you like.
> 
> Come back in another couple months for Chapter 6! Hey, at least I write nice long chapters...


	6. a bird caught in a storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather melancholy song for Reader's rather melancholy mood at the start of the chapter: [Blue Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80nzv8qqTEA)

After Sans leaves the apartment, the part of you that gets off on feeling used and degraded is satisfied. The rest of you feels lonely as hell. This is work, you remind yourself. This is what you signed up for. The sex is fun, to put it mildly, and the money means you still have a shot at saving your sister. For once in your life, you're incredibly lucky. If you want anything else, that's what friends are for.

 _What_ friends? You shake your head and smile bitterly as you put your bra back on and do the buttons up on your blouse. You may be close to your sister, but you have a tendency to keep the rest of the world at arm's length. Or so you've been informed by everyone who's ever dumped you. When things end on fairly good terms, they might employ terms like 'reserved' and 'distrusting'; breakups that involve more shouting also tend to involve phrases like 'ice queen bitch.' You'd understand if you knew who I was, you want to shoot back. But that's the whole problem, isn't it?

The only good friend you made since leaving the surface died four years ago under painful circumstances. What you really have now is a circle of acquaintances: people you used to volunteer with at the soup kitchen, your neighbors, people you know from your favorite dance hall and your ex-coworkers. However, there's no one in your life who knows about your past, much less anyone to whom you can explain that you're now calling a skeleton monster your master for money. Well, since you're immediately spending almost everything you earn, at least you don't have to come up with some contorted story to explain your mysterious new wealth. 

Great. Now you're starting to indulge in the same sort of gallows humor that Sasha uses to keep up her spirits. 

Somehow you can't stand the idea of going home to an empty apartment. As long as you're going to be alone, you might as well stay in the nicer one. All you have to eat are snacks, so you run to the corner store, picking up a newspaper, a movie magazine and a cheese and vegetable sandwich -- the store's only vegetarian offering. The vegetables have suffered from sitting on a shelf all day, and you think wistfully about some of the sandwiches you had while you were working in the monster districts, where magic seemed to make everything taste better. Still, food is food, and you eat it while you read the paper. 

It's Tuesday, September 19, 1933, and there's nothing new in New Ebott. There's still severe shortages of the necessary medication for whitepox. One man, angry about sky-high drug prices, attacked one of the pharmacy corp CEOs. He managed to slice his cheek open before being subdued by bodyguards. A woman got busted for forging the necessary credentials to take the public aerial tram to the surface. She was desperate to get her child to Narcissus Hospital, but didn't seem to have a plan past that point -- was she intending to gain access to the new whitepox treatments by throwing herself on the hospital's mercy? Not for the first time, you feel guilty that you have the money and background that lets you do something for Sasha that thousands and thousands of people can't do for the ones they love. Of course, it's likely you've endured a hell of a lot more than the average New Ebott resident. Life doesn't make sense, you remind yourself.

There's a salacious article describing how the King is now personally vetting applicants for his son's harem. A harem, now that's a good one. Prince Jerren might be an ass, but he does _not_ have a harem. Well... _probably_ not. Underground residents do love their completely fictitious Courtyard gossip, you think, rolling your eyes. How this crap winds up in an otherwise respectable newspaper is beyond you. 

The existence of a royal family is not itself a tabloid invention. New Ebott has a monarchy and an aristocracy, the members of which can trace their lineage to the magicians who sacrificed their powers to create the surface. In theory they have a role in the government: in practice they fill their time with court intrigue and pleasure-seeking and cheerfully let everything outside the Courtyard go hang. They entrust management of their holdings and estates to outside agents and only occasionally deign to participate in their civic duties. This has the general effect of weakening the government, which creates a power vacuum filled by the various gangs, businesses and religious groups that hold power underground. As long as their own luxurious lives aren't disturbed, what do they care? When you're separated from the rest of humanity by thousands of feet, it's easy to forget about all but your own concerns. It's not like you were any different.

Most New Ebott residents consider the monarchy and the aristocracy to be fairytale figures. Courtyard residents are widely portrayed as debauched, mystical creatures utterly unconcerned with the lives and sufferings of the humans crawling like ants underneath them. The part about them being unconcerned is true enough, while the rest makes them out to be vastly more interesting than they actually are. Up close, the constant jostling for status and petty cruelty of the aristocracy always just struck you as sad. Your own family was not part of that tier of Courtyard society, and it didn't take much contact with them for you to decide that being nouveau riche and excluded from their circle was not actually such a bad position to inhabit. As for the King and Queen, they occupy such a large place in the collective imagination of New Ebott that it is almost a disappointment that they're as shallow and uninteresting as they really are. Still, they can actually be rather pleasant, when taken in small doses -- and when not under the impression that your mother is a traitor.

Their son, Prince Jerren, is widely considered to be a fine young man, and whatever your personal opinion of him might be, you can easily see why. He's charming, artistic and intelligent... and he does have a knack for making people like him. Still, when you left the surface, one thought you consoled yourself with was that whatever connection you had with him was now cleanly and irrecoverably severed. After all, he hardly even leaves the Courtyard. For him to go underground to seek you out would be unthinkable.

There's a specific article you're looking for, and you flip through the news and entertainment sections again to make sure you haven't overlooked it. Based on past patterns, it'll probably show up soon, but you don't see it today. Well, any day where you and Sasha don't have your pictures on the front page is a good day.

After reading the paper, you run a bath and slip inside, drawing comfort from the sensual pleasure of the hot water and ridiculously expensive bubble bath, and read your movie magazine. A little escapism is just what you need, and you study profiles of promising new actresses, savor some salacious gossip and decide which of the previews of upcoming movies seem most appealing. There's a small article about a popular monster actor and producer, Mettaton, who hopes to have his movies distributed in human theaters. The article makes the newest one out to be rather charming, if self-aggrandizing and melodramatic. Sounds right up your alley. You'd wanted to see a monster movie in the week you spent in the districts, but the timing had never been quite right.

It's ten o'clock when your head hits the pillow, and right on time, you feel Sans' magic shimmering inside you. It makes you gasp as a surge of pleasure ripples through your body. Once, twice, three times. Maybe he should learn Morse code, you think, and the thought makes you laugh. Thinking of how he made you call him master and fucked your mouth turns you on all over again, and it's not long before you're lying helpless and spent in bed, your fingers slick with your own arousal and your toes curling and uncurling. He sends a fourth wave of stimulation as if in response to your orgasm, and you squirm as it goes all through you at the same time your muscles contract, taking your breath away.

Your new occupation might leave you feeling used and lonely as hell, but damned if it doesn't have some perks.

\----------

Sans doesn't wake you up when he teleports in around midnight. He turns on the light in the living room and is startled to notice that there's a figure in the bed.

He leans against the doorframe, studying you. 

* _she never went home._

* _did she end up staying here too late? is her other place THAT unsafe? is there some problem at home? maybe she just likes it here better?_

* _it is a nice place. i wouldn't mind keeping her overnight some time..._

* _no, she's doing a job, and a difficult one at that. i need to respect that, and not impose myself on her. fantasizing about owning a human girl might be a hell of a turn on, but in reality i'm buying fifteen hours of her time a week, not her soul._

* _this is all just a distraction. an effective one, certainly, but nothing more than that. and for her part, she owes me nothing aside from what we've agreed on._

* _she's a nice gal, she enjoys the sex, she likes me well enough. but she's got her own problems, and out of bed she seems like a reserved, pragmatic sort of person. someone who won't lose sight of the fact that this is ultimately a job._

* _which, of course, is precisely how i want it._

* _in the end, this connection with her is as unreal as everything else about my life. and when the reset hits, it'll be as if we'd never met._

He turns back to the living room and scans the reading material you've left on the coffee table.

* _she picked up a movie magazine. she likes movies? that barely even counts as a deduction. pages are rippled, she read in the bath. pleasing mental image, there. she worked on the crossword in the back, didn't finish..._

* _today's newspaper. some of the sections are untouched... she keeps up with the news but doesn't care about sports or business._

He notices the wrapper from the sandwich in the trash can.

* _veggie sandwich from the corner store. health nut? vegetarian? suspicious of the meat from that place? i should have told her to lay in some real food for herself._

* _i was going to write and tell her i probably won't be here tomorrow, but i don't want to freak her out... she'd realize i was here while she was sleeping. i'll pop back in at some point._

* _now back to my own place, i guess._

He stands in the doorway again. The light from the living room streams through the door and gives your face a soft glow. 

* _she looks so peaceful..._

* _how can she bear to sell herself to me? to a fucking wreck of a monster?_

He turns away, shaking his head.

* _come on, sans. that's enough acting like a goddamn creep._

\----------

The next morning, you write a note to Sans.

\- I ended up staying over here overnight. Is that going to be all right with you if I do that sometimes? See you tonight (possibly.)

You make your way up to the surface to see Sasha. Today is her fourth day there, and although she doesn't look noticeably better, she doesn't look worse, either. You've been told that the first phase of the treatment is intended to stabilize her, and indeed, until you brought her here, every day you noticed some new indication of her deteriorating condition. You feel like you stopped the clock just in time, and you pray she has enough strength left to push back, to endure the treatments.

She seems tired and troubled, but before you can inquire too closely as to what's on her mind, she requests that you read to her. Before she'd contracted whitepox, her favorite pulp fiction magazines had been a bone of contention between the two of you. As her sister you didn't feel inclined to restrict her reading; as her substitute mother you thought you should at least attempt to pass on your own mother's values, which certainly would not have included approval for lurid tales of space aliens or bloody murder. Sasha didn't think you had any right to tell her how to spend her own money, and she protested by shoplifting the magazines. This led to its own set of difficulties, and you bribed and apologized her way out of trouble.

When her illness worsened, it didn't really seem to matter if she rotted her brain with trashy fiction, and you started buying them for her yourself. Now here you are, narrating the exploits of the alien Princess Kla'tka because Sasha's eyes get strained so easily.

You've often wished for a real substitute mother after you went underground, like a fairy godmother who would offer to stay well past the ball. Not just for Sasha's sake, but for your own as well. At the age of twenty-four, you feel like you're winging everything, that you're never doing well enough by your sister, that you're fighting to tread water in a vast, indifferent ocean. There are days when all you want is for someone to hug you and tell you you've done a good job.

"Did you know Prince Jerren's really good at doing voices?" Sasha says, her eyes closed.

The words seem to blur together, and you nearly drop the magazine. "What?"

"He volunteers here," Sasha explains. She turns onto her side with a great effort and looks at you searchingly. "He read to me yesterday."

So that's what she was troubled about.

"He -- he volunteers here," you repeat. "Prince Jerren. Volunteers here." You frown. "Are we talking about the same guy?"

The pustule-crusted skin around her eyes crinkles up as she grins. "I was pretty surprised too. He hardly ever leaves the Courtyard, right? And I don't exactly remember him being big on public service." She shrugs. "Everyone's all excited. The nurses won't shut up about it."

You hadn't heard about it, but then again, you haven't exactly been in a hurry to socialize with anyone up here. "I imagine..."

"He's a good actor."

"Why does _that_ not surprise me?" you mutter under your breath. 

Sasha ignores your interruption as she continues "There was this part where Princess Kla'tka was exploring this alien tomb, and she and Norzhil got ambushed by ghosts, right? And the ghosts start chasing them and cursing them, and Kla'tka is trying to reason with them and Norzhil is making all these jokes, and it was _awesome_. He did this girly voice for Kla'tka, this goofy accent for Norzhil and this deep creepy voice for the ghosts. Plus he had really great timing for all the jokes..." Sasha's own voice gets more strained as she talks with such enthusiasm, and she winds up having a coughing fit. "Jeez. Sorry," she mumbles between coughs.

You pass her a glass of water, and she sits up, sipping it. The effort it's taking her means that she doesn't apparently notice the way you're fuming. Isn't _that_ nice, that he can treat you like _crap_ and then almost six years later do stupid _chipmunk_ voices or whatever to make your sister think he's so _great_...

She lays back down and closes her eyes before continuing. "Anyway. I told him, I was surprised someone like him had ever bothered learning how to do anything _useful_."

You wince. "You _said_ that?" 

"Come on, he thought it was funny. He laughed and said he was a lot more useful than I gave him credit for. And he said he admired how I spoke my mind."

"Huh." You narrow your eyes. "You _do_ remember that he's good at saying what people want to hear, right?" 

"You mean you think he was flattering me? Well, maybe. I kept thinking, this guy wants me to like him," Sasha answers. "I've gotta say it actually kind of worked. But it doesn't mean I've forgotten what happened when we left." She shrugs. "If he wanted me to like him maybe he should have _helped_ us instead of making you _cry_."

Great. She must have seen you crying when you came home from the palace that night. You hadn't even realized she was still awake. When you left the surface and became your sister's guardian, you were eighteen and Sasha was nine. The age difference and your adolescent focus on the drama of your own life meant that, at the time, the two of you had actually never been close. You didn't yet know how observant your kid sister actually was.

"Yeah, I guess," you say vaguely.

Sasha opens her eyes, focusing on you with what looks like some difficulty. "I... probably shouldn't have brought it up, huh?"

You shake your head. "No -- no, it's good to know. I'll be prepared, if I run into him."

"When I was talking to him, I thought for sure he was going to ask me about you," Sasha says, her voice quiet.

"You... predicted it, you mean?"

"Yeah. But he didn't." She shrugs, but her expression is disturbed. "Maybe I'm losing my touch."

"Or maybe he'll ask the next time he's here," you offer.

"Yeah, maybe," she says, but she still looks troubled. She studies you, frowning. "Did you ever actually... like him? I remember people gossiping that he seemed to like you, but... I also remember thinking no one ever seemed to ask _you_ what _you_ thought of _him_."

You grimace. "Well... I imagine I felt like you did yesterday. I often got the sense that he wanted me to like him, and I did appreciate his support. But..."

"There was that party, right?"

That party. You still believe you did the right thing, but even nine years later you can't remember it without a feeling of mortification balling up in your stomach. "Yeah. And..." 

And when your mother was arrested he acted like your friend and ally. Then he tried to take advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable and withdrew all his support when he didn't get what he wanted out of you.

And you keep wondering if he had _something_ to do with what happened to your family, even though the proof stubbornly refuses to materialize.

And you suspect there's something... unusual about him. Rationally, you _know_ it's nothing more than an improbable theory. All the same, you've never convinced yourself you're wrong.

All your sister knows about any of that is that your name and his had once been linked in Courtyard gossip, and you're not eager to share the rest. So you shrug. "I just never trusted him since then, that's all."

Sasha looks at you thoughtfully, then closes her eyes again. "I kinda felt like I didn't trust him either. But if he keeps reading to me I can _maybe_ overlook that."

"So you'll sell me out for good voice acting, huh?" you say with a slight smile.

"For good voice acting? 'Course not. For _fantastic_ voice acting? Uh... sorry, sis," she answers, grinning sheepishly.

You fear encountering Jerren and his entourage as you leave Sasha's hospital room, but thankfully, you don't see him. Outside the hospital, however, you run into two of your former friends. Ionathia and Adaleia have almost certainly been waiting for you, as gently bred Courtyard women seldom leave that enclave without a very good reason. You'd wondered if this was going to happen eventually, and you feel your poise departing you even as you try to hold your head up higher. Tender-hearted Ionathia seems shocked at the sight of her old school friend as a working-class New Ebott young woman, while acerbic Adaleia appears to be cataloging all the details of your homemade dress, cheap shoes and drab accessories. What would she say if she knew you sewed your own underwear? You're almost tempted to mention it and find out. 

Ionathia calls you hesitantly by your old name. "I just -- I know you might not be happy to see us, but -- but I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your dear sister! I -- I can't even _imagine_ the _trials_ you two have gone through down -- down _there_ , and now -- now _this_ \-- " She bursts into tears.

Well, she at least hasn't changed. 

"This new strain of whitepox is simply dreadful," Adaleia says, shaking her head. "When we heard you and your sister had returned to the surface, we felt compelled to lend you our support. Even if you _did_ leave in abject disgrace."

She hasn't changed either. Good to know.

You look at Ionathia, then Adaleia. Adaleia's characteristic bluntness aside, this is a significantly warmer reception than you'd anticipated. Nearly six years ago, both of their families had flatly refused to allow you and Sasha to stay with them when your own family had been destroyed. You'd taken the rejections with grace, then escaped to your favorite hiding place, where you cried for a half hour and swore your two best friends were now dead to you. They hadn't come to see you off, and you wouldn't have acknowledged them if they had.

For years you'd felt like they betrayed you and resented them for it, but now you're faced with them, your anger starts to fade away. You'd blamed them for a decision they had no control over, and although you had been angry that they believed your mother to be guilty of treason, well, they shared that in common with the rest of the Courtyard. When you'd first seen the two of them, you'd thought for one horrible second that they were there to revel in your misfortunes. But it seems they're here to encourage you instead -- in their own ways, at least. Curiosity might form part of their motivation, but all the same you're touched that they've done this, especially considering how most of the Courtyard surely still views you.

"I'm grateful for your kindness," you say, holding your hand to your heart. "Truly I am."

Ionathia's sobs get louder as she steps forward and starts squeezing the life out of you. Adaleia looks like she's trying to conceal just how relieved she is as she replies, "Well. That went better than I expected. I had rather thought you might spit tobacco on our shoes and swear at us." 

Adaleia's bluntness makes her an oddity in the Courtyard, where people, especially women, tend to speak in a much more circumspect and formal way. Still, she never exactly intends to _hurt_ ; her willingness to say what she thinks is her way of trying to make a situation less fraught. Somehow you can't help but smile. "Left all my tobacco at home." 

Ionathia's eyes open wide, and she pulls back and puts her hands on your shoulders. "Surely you haven't _really_ started such a dreadful habit!"

"I'm _kidding_ , Ionathia," you reply gently. "And I know Adaleia is too. It's not _quite_ as barbaric down there as you think."

"Oh, but it's _changed_ you so," Ionathia wails. "Look at you, you look so -- so _sad_ \--"

You wince. She doesn't mean to hurt you, but her innocent horror can't help but sting. Particularly because she's right.

Adaleia seems to notice this, as she changes the subject. "We were intending to go back with you to the aerial tram," she says. "It's probably as much support as it's wise for us to show."

No doubt she's right. Before the end of the day, it will be common knowledge in the Courtyard that Adaleia and Ionathia came to see you. It's one thing for them to acknowledge you and spend a little time catching up with you, but it would be another thing for them to spend hours talking to you. Who knows what seditious ideas a traitor's daughter might end up filling their heads with?

They board the light rail with you and sit flanking you, as if shielding you from the glances coming your way. The three of you make quite a picture: you in your homemade dress, the two of them in the anachronistic gowns still favored in the Courtyard.

" _I_ wanted to see if we could at least bring you back to the Courtyard, and _she_ wouldn't even let me _ask_ ," Ionathia pouts. "Said my husband would be _cross_ with me if I put such a silly request to the head of security, which is probably _true_ , but still I at least wanted to _ask_..."

You blink. "You're married?"

"For a year now," she says proudly.

"Wow." It's rather hard to believe for someone as flighty as her.

"Hard to believe for someone as flighty as her, right?" Adaleia says affectionately, and Ionathia giggles. A shadow crosses her face as she continues "And before you ask, answer's no."

Adaleia had been in love with your brother Mattias, although you don't think he ever noticed. You're not sure if she's still single due to loyalty to his memory or because she never found a partner who appreciated her communication style, but somehow you're rather touched.

"Answer's no for me too," you answer with a shrug.

"Then now we've exhausted that tedious topic of conversation, let's move along," Adaleia answers. "How _is_ your sister doing?"

"Well, Sasha contracted whitepox several months ago," you answer. "She was... not doing very well by the time I was able to bring her up here. But she seemed stable today, and I hope... I just hope it'll help. Have you heard much about the epidemic underground?"

"Oh, yes," Ionathia says. "The disease did spread to the Concourse, and the Courtyard has been closed off in response until the beginning of this month."

"I'm grateful for the Institute's work on a cure, as suspicious an establishment as I always thought it before," Adaleia chimes in. "My father contracted whitepox when he went to the Concourse on business, but he's doing much better now, thanks to their new treatments."

"How glad I am to hear that," you say, although you would probably mean it a little more sincerely if he'd let you and Sasha stay with their family. 

You hadn't actually heard much about how the treatments were developed; what you'd read underground had given the impression that they were a creation of one of the surface corps. It gives you pause that they're connected to the Institute of Extraphysical Studies, which is a secretive Courtyard institution. Even in the Courtyard, no one seems quite sure what it is they research. Although ever since you read about the mysterious weapon that left district six covered in dust, you've wondered if it was developed there. 

"How _were_ you able to bring her up here?" Adaleia asks.

"Well, she wasn't involved in our family's troubles," you answer, "and she was, after all, born here. So they agreed to take her."

"But surely it must be tremendously expe--" Adaleia starts. 

Ionathia cuts her off. She might not mind her friend's bluntness, but even for her there are limits, and in the culture you grew up in, referring directly to money is taboo. "So your sister changed her name to Sasha? I suppose... you changed yours too?" 

You tell her the name you picked for yourself, and she looks worried as she asks "Should we call you that, too?"

"It's my name now," you say with a shrug. 

"So _sad_ ," Ionathia whispers to herself. 

"Actually, I think it suits me better than my old one," you say, smiling. Or the name you use as a call girl. Now _that_ you have no intention of mentioning.

Adaleia shakes her head. "I still don't think I'll ever get used to thinking of you that way." She looks curiously at you as she asks "It must be miserable living down there, is it not?"

Both of your friends lean in towards you a little bit, as if you're about to reveal a terrible secret. You're tempted to shock the two of them with lurid tales that wouldn't be out of place in Sasha's pulp fiction magazines. But you amuse yourself by taking a different tack. 

"To be honest, it rather suits Sasha and myself," you say, smiling. "I appreciate the freedom we have. We live in our own apartment by a rather large park, with a beautiful rock garden and a public swimming pool. In the summer, we pack picnic lunches and spend all day there, swimming, people watching and walking on the trails. It doesn't look anything like the park up here," you say as you gesture out the window to the showy red and gold trees, "but people underground manage to create beauty where they can. I find it inspiring."

This response disconcerts them much more than tales of your woe would have, and you can't help but be grimly amused. "But... you don't worry? Isn't it... well, unsafe?" Ionathia asks.

No one goes to Onett Park after dark unless they're looking for drugs or a place to sleep, but you opt not to pass on this detail. "It's true that underground, things are very different from how they are in the Courtyard," you say, nodding. "But that hardly means every part of it is dangerous. The way you ask, you seem to be expecting me to tell you I trip over dead gangsters every morning on my way to work!" You laugh, and they do too, albeit a little uncomfortably.

"What about monsters? Have you met any monsters?" Ionathia asks.

"Considering your affection for the creatures, I suppose you have one as a roommate by now," Adaleia chimes in.

Talk about too close to home, you think, but you keep smiling. "I have met some monsters," you say, nodding. "I've even spent some time in the districts underneath the surface where they live."

Adaleia frowns. "How dreadful! How can _anything_ live underneath the surface?"

"Wouldn't it be very _dark_?" Ionathia squeaks.

"It is dark," you say, "so they line the streets and buildings with thousands and thousands of little magical lights. It's very much like the stargazing parties my parents used to throw, actually..."

"Magical lights. Who knew," Adaleia says, her eyebrows raised. "I can just picture you among the monsters, getting frustrated because you can't sketch them when they walk too far away from the lights..."

You shake your head. "I... don't actually do much drawing anymore."

The two of them look at you in surprise. "Funny, I seem to remember your sketchbook and pencil being permanently bolted to your hands," Adaleia says.

"I don't really have the time," you say, shrugging. To be more accurate, you don't have the motivation. Since losing your family and coming underground you've suffered a permanent case of creative block.

Ionathia looks like she may cry again. "But you were always _so_ artistic," she protests.

"Things are different now."

"You must miss the Courtyard _terribly_..."

In a way, Ionathia is the blunter of the two -- she just doesn't even consider that she might be causing pain. Again, you smile and conceal the true answer, which is that sometimes you feel heartsick because you know you'll never see that side of the wall again... and sometimes you amuse yourself by picturing the Courtyard overrun by cockroaches the size of dogs. "I try not to dwell on the past," you answer, as big a lie as that may be. "And I've found plenty of other things under the surface that bring me joy. I go out dancing, and often take Sasha to movies." It's true you haven't done much of either since she got sick, but that's a level of detail you don't need to get into. 

"Dancing? Oh, do tell," Ionathia bounces up and down on her seat as she says this.

"Underground, there are special places where people gather to dance, known as dance halls. You pay an entrance fee, and there's lovely music."

"Wouldn't it be dreadfully tedious if you didn't happen to know anyone there?" Adaleia asks.

"That's not unusual," you say, shrugging. "You just dance with whoever asks you."

Both women gawk at you. "With -- strange men?" Ionathia says, blinking.

"They're not _that_ strange," you say, amused. "Most of them are really rather nice."

"I find that hard to believe, but you're the expert," Adaleia says with a shrug. "Are the dances like ours?"

"Oh, no," you say, smiling. The kinds of dances you learned when you lived on the surface involve little physical contact, seldom requiring more than holding hands. "They put their arm around your shoulder, and you dance very close. Cheek to cheek, even." 

"How racy! I can hardly imagine such a thing," Ionathia says, clearly enthralled by your story. 

"It sounds _savage_ ," Adaleia says, curiosity and disapproval both evident in her expression.

You smile slyly. "I'd be happy to take you to one sometime, should you ever visit me underground."

The idea makes both of them visibly recoil. "Oh -- we couldn't -- it would just be --" Ionathia stammers.

"I'm sure you'd _love_ it."

"Well... maybe... someday," Ionathia says uncertainly.

"Should there ever be an emergency evacuation of the surface, I will certainly direct my escape pod straight to one of these 'dance halls,'" Adaleia says, rolling her eyes.

The three of you get off the shuttle near the terminal to the aerial tram, and they turn to face you. "I'm so happy we -- we could talk like this," Ionathia says, her lower lip wobbling. "We missed you so..."

"What happened to you was a travesty," Adaleia adds. "I should have fought harder to help you and I've regretted it for years. I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do for you now, I hope you won't be too mule-headed to accept my assistance."

You can't help but smile. "I appreciate that. I think." 

What _would_ you want from the Courtyard? There's only one thing you can think of, and Adaleia is certainly not in a position to give it to you: clearance to mourn your family at the spot where you scattered their ashes. It would be an impossibility, as the head of Courtyard security made it abundantly clear that given the magnitude of your mother's crime, her daughters would never return to that side of the wall.

"Here..." She presses a heavy bag of dried cherries on you, saying "I know you like fresh cherries best, but it's September, this is the best I could do." She's embroidered the bag herself, with a sprig of cherry blossoms.

"And I made this for you," Ionathia says, giving you a small framed card with an arrangement of pressed dried flowers on it. "I thought you might like to remember your pretty garden..." She's written a dedication on the back, to you -- or to your old name -- with her love.

You accept the presents, holding them to your chest. "I'm... I'm so touched... Thank you..."

Adaleia shrugs. "Probably should have brought you some new clothes instead." She looks closer at you, frowning. "What happened to your locket?"

Your hand moves automatically to your throat. You'd been given a gold locket with your family's emblem on the outside and a family portrait on the inside for your thirteenth birthday. It'd been yanked right off your neck nearly six years ago. It took years to break yourself of the habit of reaching for it when you were stressed out. "I... I got mugged," you mumble. "The day I came down."

Ionathia blinks. "Mugged... that's... robbed, right? Oh! You poor _dear_..." The thought drives her to tears all over again.

"Barbaric. The thieves should be drawn and quartered," Adaleia growls, smacking the back of her hand in her palm. She frowns. "Although I suppose no one's actually done that for centuries. Well, they should bring it _back_."

"What a disagreeable idea," Ionathia interrupts, wiping her eyes. "I have a better way of cheering you up than Addie does. Look!" She produces a slim yellow book from her handbag and presents it to you. "Prince Jerren recently published a new book of poetry!"

"He and his retinue met us as we left the Courtyard, and he was so gracious as to give us both copies," Adaleia explains. "Somehow he got it out of us that we were going to meet you, so he gave us a copy for you, too."

You take the book with evident reluctance, and Adaleia looks confused. "You don't want it? I'd have thought you'd have been flattered. Goodness knows I was," she continues, a little dreamily. Adaleia, for all she prides herself on bluntness, is susceptible to flattery. Just as Jerren knew how to get on Sasha's good side, he managed to turn Adaleia into one of his biggest fans long ago.

"He thought you might like to read it on the aerial tram," Ionathia explains.

"That -- that was very kind of him..." Where by 'kind' you mean 'narcissistic.' Figures that _he_ would think you would rather read his stupid poetry than look out the window at the pretty view.

"You're not pleased?" Ionathia asks, her eyes open wide in surprise. "But weren't you rather a favorite of his?"

Unfortunately, that's true. You attempt to collect yourself. "At one point, I suppose," you answer as you slip the book into your handbag along with the dried cherries and flower picture. "But it was all a long time ago. I'm surprised he even remembers me."

They look at each other; they'll certainly have a lot to say to each other about this lukewarm response once you're gone. "I must say, I was surprised he remembered _us_ ," Ionathia says. "We hardly run in aristocratic circles."

"But he remembered our names immediately," Adaleia chimes in. "And said that it was admirable, how loyal we were to you. Which, considering what your mother was hoping to do to his family, isn't the response I --"

"She was _innocent_ ," you snap.

Ionathia kicks Adaleia's ankle, and she has the grace to look ashamed. "Well. Point is. I was surprised, too."

There's an awkward silence.

"He really is charming, and so graceful," Ionathia continues in an attempt to smooth over Adaleia's misstep. 

"Never could figure why he was so taken with _you_ ," Adaleia says with a shrug. "You're not his type at all." 

"And yet, if things had been different, we might be coming to visit you at the palace, not catching you on the way back underground," Ionathia says dreamily.

This is all getting to be too much. "I'm sorry to say it, after you came all the way out here to see me, but I'm afraid I really must get back home," you say apologetically.

"Of course," Ionathia says, patting your shoulder. "We'd hate to keep you from your dancing!"

If Sans shows up tonight, that's not precisely what you'll be doing, but you keep that thought to yourself as you bid them goodbye, accepting hugs and promises of further meetings in the future. 

The two of them see you back onto the aerial tram, and you flip through the book of poetry during the ride. Jerren might have a reputation for being artistic, but all the same, poetry is tricky. It might be spiteful, but you're hoping to discover that he's embarrassed himself by publishing an unreadable, sophomoric mess of bad rhymes and ham-fisted metaphors that would reveal him to be a complete hack. It's painful to have to admit that the man actually _is_ a good writer. The poems flow beautifully and make use of some rather creative imagery, and you find yourself getting caught up in them, savoring good lines and re-reading some of the better verses. 

Is it vain to think one of the poems is probably about you? Some of the details seem to match up a little too well. The poem likens the unfortunate woman to a bird caught in a storm. Talk about creepy, you think, your stomach feeling like it's twisting and knotting up inside you. It's been almost six years since you've seen him, and you've hoped you were well and truly off his radar. But here he is, reading pulp fiction to your sister, giving your old friends a present to deliver to you, possibly even writing poetry about you. 

He... surely didn't start volunteering at the hospital just to manufacture some excuse to talk to you? 

Maybe you're just being paranoid, but if a man is writing poetry about you... isn't a certain level of paranoia only appropriate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote that the next chapter would take a couple of months; I meant it flippantly and I'm sorry that it actually did. Chapter 7 will be along sooner than that. I'll have status updates at my tumblr: [neroli9.tumblr.com](neroli9.tumblr.com)
> 
> By the way, I made a couple of small mistakes. In chapter 5 I wrote about an event happening ten years ago, and it actually happened nine years ago. I've corrected it but thought I should point it out. Technically, it happened nine and a half years ago. My own sense of time is lousy, so if something happened to me nine and a half years ago I'd probably round up to ten. But for a story, I suppose I should be more precise. Then, in chapter 2, I changed the description of the destroyed district from a 'vacant lot' to a 'ghost town.' The buildings are still there.
> 
> Thanks as always to peonylanterns, who has spent hours and hours of her life beta reading this goofy story for me! I keep saying it, but it's true -- this story is so much better because of her comments and questions, and I'm so grateful to her. She's started [her own Sans/Reader mob AU story, Tethering](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7728835/chapters/17616499). Go enjoy it and leave thoughtful comments :)
> 
> She's also complained that it's hard to keep track of what day it is, so I posted [a timeline current to chapter 6](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/151741174100/apjfm-calendar-to-chapter-6). Hopefully that'll help keep things straight.


	7. someone to take care of you (explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of one of Reader's hobbies, here's some appropriate music for this chapter: ["Let Yourself Go."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aua7VRKg6cc)

Is it better to be on time for Sans, with presents that give away your past and identity burning a hole in your handbag, or is it better to stash them safely at your apartment and be late? You decide you can't risk it, and you drop back by your apartment first. This makes you late, and after running the last few blocks you arrive at the shared apartment a disheveled mess. You're grateful to find no Sans, just a note for you:

\- of course it's fine, i want you to think of this place as your own. need any more cash to fix it up? pick up some food for yourself, too. 

\- i probably won't be there today. enjoy your break.

You write back:

\- Glad to know you don't mind. I still have some of the money you gave me to fix it up earlier.

\- What kind of food do you like? My cooking skills are limited but I can probably manage simple things. 

\- Assuming I won't see you today, I hope your day goes well.

Your cooking skills are limited because you never so much as set foot in a kitchen for the first part of your life, you didn't have a place of your own for a while, then you worked your ass off since then, coming home and doing piece work while your sister learned to cook for the both of you. At first you ate an awful lot of canned soup and sandwiches, but in the past few years she's really improved. Since she's been sick, you've cobbled together what you could. There are a lot of days you haven't really felt like eating at all.

Three hours of reading... You can do that. You settle in on the couch, memories of what you did there the previous day distracting you from your book. Who cares whether just one of the train passengers killed the murder victim or all of them were in on the plot? Yesterday Sans complimented you and felt your pulse, right here. Oh, and he made you call him master. You're not liable to forget that.

You finish your book and still have an hour and a half left to go. Sans isn't likely to come, so you dash to the nearby newsstand and back without bothering to write a note. As you expected, he's still gone when you return a few minutes later with the day's newspaper.

The whitepox epidemic continues, check; another couple of gangsters offed each other, check; someone's collection of surface tech was confiscated, check; an entirely fabricated story about a pair of children in the Courtyard with unprecedented magical powers, check; the Krakens continue their losing streak, check. All just what you expected -- until you find the article you've been waiting for. A familiar sick pressure blooms in your stomach as you tear it out and tuck it in your handbag. It's not enough just to throw the rest of the newspaper away when you're done reading it. You take it straight outside to the dumpster and chuck it in, wishing you could do the same to whatever slimy hack wrote the article.

Sans is there when you return, relaxing on the couch and checking his pocket watch , and you nearly jump out of your own skin. "Oh my God! I -- I didn't think you were coming," you squeak.

"told ya, reserve the right to change my mind," he says with a grin. He's already taken off his jacket and holster, and he tucks his pocket watch back into his vest pocket. Funny how you haven't known him for two weeks, but you're already accustomed to thinking of a well-dressed skeleton as handsome -- if still somewhat intimidating.

"I'm sorry, I should have written a note, I just had to step out for a minute," you stammer. The last thing you want is for him to think you're trying to cheat him out of the time you'd agreed on.

"nah, sweetheart, i knew you were coming back," he says with a shrug.

"Oh." You pause. Makes sense, you did leave all the lights on and your handbag is on the coffee table. "Well, I'll just get myself fixed up--"

He shakes his head. "don't have the time. just..." He eyes you. "take off your dress." He says it as casually as if he was ordering a cup of coffee, and blood rises to your cheeks as you comply. As you pull it over your head, he continues "thing is, i finished a job a little early. supposed to go follow up with the guy who hired me, but it's all the same to him if i'm there now or in ten minutes. and i kept wondering..." He undoes his pants, starting to form his cock over one hand. "just how long would it take that pretty human of mine to get me off?" He sits with his legs spread wide and gestures to the floor. 

You kneel in front of him in your slip and underwear, and he takes your chin in his hand, tilting your head up so you're looking into his eye sockets. "so tell me, girl. how long DO you think it'll take you, if you're sucking cock like your life depends on it?"

You swallow. "Um... not long..."

His fingers press into your jaw so tightly that you yelp. "yeah? let's find out."

He brings his hand to the back of your head and pushes your lips down to the tip of his cock. You let it fill your mouth and start sucking hard. So this time you're trying to set a record, not trying to impress him with your technique or give him a memorable experience. Well, you can do that. You wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, holding it tightly and pumping your hand up and down as you stimulate him. Speed, not subtlety, you think, bobbing your head and breathing deeply through your nose. How quickly _can_ you get him off? Yesterday's session was on the long side, but he was making a point.

He groans, and his hand tightens over your hair. "alright. fuck. yeah, probably not long." His magic starts to tingle on your skin, sliding under your slip and bra and covering your breasts, and you whimper, squirming around as you blow him. The way you respond to his magic apparently turns him on all the more, because he makes a low, growling noise and his magic rubs in small circles over your nipples.

Remembering yesterday, you bring your other hand to his pelvis, reaching for his tailbone and wrapping your fingers around it. He moans and presses down on the back of your head. That's a _really_ good little trick, you think with satisfaction as you rub your thumb up and down over the bones. They're slightly damp in the crevices where they connect to each other. Wait, does he get sweaty? If so, it doesn't smell like human sweat -- one advantage of a skeleton lover over a human one, you decide. Or it could be that he took a shower before visiting you. If that's the case... what the hell kind of job did he _do_? Probably not the best time to contemplate it.

"no goddamn wonder you went pro," he mumbles, caressing your shoulder as his magic starts to slide over your thighs. This pulls your thoughts away from skeleton hygiene and back to the job at hand. "this is what you're best at, isn't it? you dirty little human." You respond with a tighter squeeze to his tailbone, and he groans. "fuck, you're too much..."

Ordinarily you'd alternate this kind of direct, intense stimulation with some other maneuvers. It's fun to play with the guy a little bit, do more for him than just give him a quick orgasm. But a quick orgasm is all Sans wants out of you tonight, and servicing him is now your job. So you keep it up, pleasuring him with both hands and your mouth, submitting to being felt up with his magic as you suck his cock. Your jaw is aching from having oral sex two days in a row, but you will yourself to keep going, to not disappoint him.

You know you're close when he pushes your head down with both hands and starts thrusting his cock into your mouth, growling "that's right, girl. you're gonna swallow my cum like the whore you are." His magic slips under your underwear and starts to tease your slit, making you whimper and wiggle around as you attempt to keep up the pace. It's probably only been a few minutes. Not bad, you think, feeling smug as you work even harder to try to finish him off.

"god i'm gonna come so hard... take it for your master, you pathetic... little... slut..." He presses your head to his pelvis, groaning as your mouth fills with his cum. "fuck," he breathes as you whimper, holding tightly to his tailbone. You draw your lips away from his cock and give it a tiny kiss on the head before letting his cum slide down your throat. His cock and the magic on your body both vanish immediately after your kiss.

He leans back, completely spent, his body twitching. You do like this stage of a blowjob where you admire the result of your efforts, maybe mess with the guy a little bit. You move up to the couch next to him, and he drapes one arm around you and holds you to him with as little energy as if his bones had been made of noodles. You rest your head against his ribcage -- which you find to be slightly more comfortable than trying to find a spot on his shoulder -- and play with his tie, sliding it out from underneath his vest and running it through your fingers. You use the tip of it to tickle the bones at his neck, and he groans. "gimme a break, sweetheart. you're gonna make me fall apart."

You freeze. "Is that... possible?"

He chuckles. "didn't used to think so. mighta been wrong."

That approaches a compliment, you think, grinning. You tuck the tie back in, giving it a little pat, then take out his pocket watch, inspecting it. It's silver with an elegant, understated design. Like everything else he wears, it doesn't offer much in the way of clues as to what kind of person he is, but it does feel nice in your hand. 

"I think your ten minutes are almost up," you murmur after a minute, tucking it back in his vest pocket. 

He takes a deep breath. "fuck. yeah, i'd better go." He pats your shoulder before sitting up and stretching. "i really could get used to this." He stands up, adjusting his vest and tie as he crosses the room to the closet. 

"That's the idea," you call after him as he puts on his jacket and holster behind the open closet door.

He comes out from behind the door, putting on his hat as he says "tomorrow's gonna be busy too. but if everything goes well i'll have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? Can you give me a hint?"

"hm. well, it comes up to 'bout... here," he says, tracing one finger in a horizontal line over your belly, at the base of your ribcage. 

"That's not helpful at all," you pout.

He chuckles. "gotta wait, sweetheart." The spots of light in his eye sockets travel over your body, and you feel suddenly very underdressed, standing in your slip in front of a man in a three-piece suit with the taste of his cum still in your mouth. The top of his head might only come up to your shoulders, but something about his physical presence has a way of making you feel vulnerable. "you can head on home if ya like, i won't be coming back. or stay here tonight again, 's all the same to me."

"Thank you..."

"i'll take my time with ya soon," he continues. "friday, probably. for now... light ya up at ten." He winks and vanishes.

Well, there's the end of your workday, you think as you massage your jaw. That was certainly easier than working for Muffet... significantly more lucrative than your old secretary job... and a lot more fun than the piecework you used to do every night. As much as Sans likes domination and degradation during sex, he seems pretty easy-going the rest of the time, and you think you're going to get along with him quite well. All in all, this might not be such a bad deal...

Who are you trying to fool? You feel lousy.

Just because you knew what you signed up for, just because you're being well paid for your skills, just because you _like_ this kind of sex... that doesn't mean you can't let yourself feel gloomy sometimes. You envision your future as hours of solitude punctuated by ten-minute blowjobs, until Sasha gets better or... well, until she gets better. 

Sure, you're going to deal with it. Like usual, what choice do you have? But it would just feel so much _easier_ if you just had one person who you could talk to about your arrangement with Sans, not to mention everything else on your mind. For a moment you consider confiding in Ionathia and Adaleia who, at one point, knew everything going on in your life. Now the thought makes you laugh bitterly. They'd die of shock, and then you'd get put on trial for murder and things would get messy.

You feel so lonely right now, so unloved... As long as the deal is on you promised you'd stay single, but all you want right now is someone to hold you in their arms and tell you they'll take care of you.

Well, you might be taking care of yourself until the day you die, but at least you can get someone to hold you within the next hour.

You hasten to put your clothes back on and get back to your own apartment. There you scarf down dinner, then put on your favorite evening gown. It's a sky blue dress decorated with ruffles and pink and white flowers. The clothes you usually create for yourself are calculated to deflect attention, not attract it, but the dresses you make to dance in are flattering, colorful and all designed to convey a message that can be easily understood from across a crowded room: 'Ask me to dance! I'm non-threatening and will laugh at your jokes.' 

You walk to your favorite neighborhood dance hall. As you told your old friends this afternoon, you used to be a regular there. You'd go about once a week, returning to Sasha with stories about awkward men who stepped on your toes, but in the past few months even the twenty cent admission fee and taxi fare home has been too hard to scrounge up. Before the whitepox epidemic, the place was usually so crowded it could be difficult to dance, but in recent months people have tended to avoid public spaces, so you don't immediately see any familiar faces. Still, your dress does the trick, and soon you're asked to dance. 

Losing yourself in physical pleasure is one of the few things that makes your life feel bearable: it helps you forget about the tragedy in your past, all of your responsibilities, the way you've hardened yourself and locked away precious parts of your heart to survive. Sex puts you into this elusive mental space more efficiently than anything else. However, the foxtrot has fewer strings attached. 

Your stress starts to melt away as you clasp hands with a stranger. His hand rests on your shoulder, and you glide over the dance floor to the big band jazz music. What would this guy think if he had any idea how comforting his human body felt to you right now? Skin, fat, muscle, they all seem like a bonus.

"Nice evening tonight," he says.

You consider making charming conversation while dancing part of the price you pay for getting what you want out of it. Your favorite partners are the ones who glide you around the floor effortlessly while shutting the hell up, allowing you to forget your troubles and reach a state of bliss fueled by movement, music and comforting physical contact. But you smile and agree, and the two of you exchange some light pleasantries about the weather and baseball as your feet work automatically.

"Say, did'ja see they mighta found the Lost Sisters?"

That sick pressure returns to your stomach, but you smile, not betraying yourself with the slightest figurative or literal misstep. "They _say_ they might have," you answer, your voice light. "The last time I read about them, there were rumors the older one was working as a cigarette girl at a speakeasy. And now they claim someone might have spotted her taking care of whitepox patients halfway across the city? It seems unlikely."

"Yeah, true enough," your partner says, grinning. "My mum says they probably don't exist, anyway. Said she waited all day to see'em come down on the aerial tram, and they never did."

"I'm sure she's right," you murmur. The papers had printed the wrong day of your departure from the surface, and you'd always wondered if that was actually a mistake. Perhaps they'd felt guilty after all the garbage they'd written about you and your family, and wanted to make things easier on you and Sasha? You can't imagine having to run the gauntlet of looky-loos like this man's mother on what was already one of the worst days of your life.

For your partner, the subject is small talk. For you, it's a reminder that you and your sister are an urban legend. A couple of times a year, there's a story claiming that the two of you -- the real sisters, not to be confused with the imposters and con artists that popped up on the day you were supposed to have come down -- may have been spotted somewhere in New Ebott. Not a single one of the stories has ever had the slightest grain of truth. Sasha loves to read about your parallel lives, and makes up elaborate explanations that turn the rumors into a story that explains how the older sister went from being involved with a cult, to working at a restaurant, to performing a vaudeville act with her younger sister. This new installment will amuse her for sure.

It doesn't amuse you. You wonder if it's just the papers spinning tales to please their audience, or if there's a reason for the stories, a pattern somewhere that you just can't see. Perhaps they could be a clue of some sort, so you collect them and paste them into a notebook. You keep it with several other notebooks filled with clipped articles, theories and notes that you hide in your stash of fabric. It's about the only place in your small apartment that your sister is unlikely to stumble on them, as she'd rather wrap a sheet around herself and fasten it with safety pins than learn to sew.

You hide them because Sasha takes the stance that your old selves died with the rest of your family, there's no point dwelling on what can't be changed and that it's not healthy for you to be haunted by the past. She gets anxious when you're obsessive and withdrawn, so you squelch that part of yourself around her, hiding your notebooks and waking up hours before she does to try to make sense of all of your collected data. She'd be upset if she knew how much time you still spend trying to understand what happened to your family, attempting to confirm your own personal conspiracy theories. 

You once swore you'd clear your mother's name. Sasha thinks you've given up, but you never will.

You change the subject, asking your dancing partner about his job and making pleasant-sounding noises as he complains about it. Your next partner is much more to your taste, as he seems to be a little too shy to make conversation. While you glide along the floor with him, you idly wonder what it would be like to dance with Sans. Dancing cheek-to-cheek would be right out, and he certainly doesn't have that nice human squishiness that you're appreciating in other men tonight. Still, he does have that sense of strength that you find appealing, and somehow you like the idea of your bodies moving in harmony, his attention focused on you in a context that doesn't involve his cock in your mouth. Is he even the dancing type? You may never know.

One of your friends, Gracie, calls you over after the song ends. She's perhaps the closest friend you have right now, which is all the more depressing because your relationship is still rather superficial. The two of you keep each other company here at the dance hall, and you get together to sew, helping each other design and create dresses. She has a special place in your heart because she was the one who once mentioned that there was a monster named Muffet who was willing to hire humans as call girls. She'd gone on to say that she had nothing against monsters, but sleeping with a _bear_ or _bunny_ just for _money_ would be _obscene_ , and she'd _never_ be that desperate. You wonder what she'd think if you told her _you_ had been.

Gracie takes both your hands in hers, squeezing them. "Darling! I haven't seen you in _forever_! And _such_ big news I have! Look! _Look_!" She displays her left hand to you. It's weighed down with a gigantic diamond ring. 

Her man is an ass, but she's your friend, and now's not the time to rehash _that_ conversation. Squealing is the response that she's hoping for, so you muster up a proper squeal and even a bit of a bunny hop. "You're engaged! Gracie, you must be so _happy_!" 

She bounces up and down too, beaming and squeezing your hands. "It's all I've ever _dreamed_ of! I shall have the most beautiful _dress_ and flowers _everywhere_ , and Jack will be _so_ handsome in his tuxedo... Oh! It'll be _glorious_. It'll be better than _anything_ in the movies! _All_ of New Ebott will be talking about it," she says, her eyes glittering.

She's probably not wrong -- her fiancé Jack is a higher-up in a powerful gang, and if the ring is any indication, he'll be happy to indulge her wedding fantasies. 

"I shall have a _dozen_ bridesmaids, and a cake with _six_ tiers, and a train all the way out to _there_ ," she continues, gesturing to the other side of the room. "And Jack's little nieces shall be _flower girls_ and we'll serve _delicious_ food at the reception and _dance_ all _night_ and -- goodness, I haven't even asked. How have _you_ been?"

Well, my sister is dying up in paradise, and I'm trying to save her by selling myself to some sort of gangster skeleton monster, you think. But you only shake your head and say "Not good. Sasha has whitepox."

"Oh, the poor _dear_! No _wonder_ you haven't been by for _months_." She looks stricken. "You don't think -- you don't think she'll have to miss the _wedding_ , do you?"

It's the last concern on your mind, but you treat the question with gravity. "Uh... I hope she'll be better soon, of course. When is it, anyway?"

"Well, we haven't set a date yet," Gracie answers. "I can't decide whether we should get married _soon_ and have a delightful winter wedding, or if we should go with tradition and be married in the summer. I've always loved the idea of a fall wedding, but that would mean we'd wait a whole _year_. And of course, I'm entirely discounting spring, which would be just _divine_..." She sighs. "With twelve whole months to choose from, however am I _possibly_ supposed to decide? It's agonizing, simply _agonizing_."

"I imagine," you say, nodding gravely.

"Well. Whatever we decide on, the two of you certainly _must_ be there! Stanley, too, of _course_. How is he?"

"Wouldn't know. It didn't work out," you admit.

Gracie touches her hand to her forehead, her expression pained. "Not Stanley, _too_?"

"Stanley too," you say with a shrug.

She shakes her head. "My dear, you truly _are_ a serial monogamist."

Your relationships follow a predictable pattern. You've gone out with more than one man who wasn't at all suited to you because he swept you off your feet on the dance floor. Your boyfriends tend to be attracted to your ruffly, non-threatening dresses and what you suspect is a reputation for not being fussy about waiting for marriage before having sex. Things go well for a few months, but by and by they start to find fault with you. 

Your dresses, designed for luring dance partners, conceal the fact that many men do find you rather intimidating. You're smarter and better educated than most of your exes, and you have a dry sense of humor and a blunt streak. Unsurprisingly, you find it hard to be emotionally open with anyone, and of course you have to hide a great many things about yourself; most of your boyfriends never even met Sasha, much less learned anything about your past. Furthermore, despite what you consider heroic efforts to conceal your surface upbringing and fit in underground, people still subconsciously sense that there's something different about you. What seems at first like an alluring puzzle to solve soon creates distance between you and a man who just never feels comfortable with you. The relationship often goes a little longer than it should because the sex is good, and then it ends badly. You also have one ex-girlfriend in your past, which led you to decide that the problem isn't the gender of your partners.

Before your family's destruction, you always assumed you'd fall in love and get married someday, and you daydreamed about finding someone you could sincerely esteem and who would respect and cherish you in return. The longer you spend underground, the less likely that looks. Maybe someday it'll just be you, your notebooks and the silverfish the size of hamsters.

Gracie, who has been dating Jack for nearly two years, shakes her head. "If only you'd learn how to _cook_..."

"I don't think that would help," you answer with a wry smile.

An invitation to dance takes you away from contemplating your shambles of a personal life and puts you back in that blissful headspace where all that matters is you and your partner, moving in harmony with the music. But after a few more dances, your feet start to hurt, and you seek out Gracie again, wandering along the outskirts of the room.

Someone pinches your ass, and you tense up, yelping. This is a hazard of a crowded dance hall; the first several times it happened you retreated straight home, but you've since learned some strategies from Gracie and your other acquaintances. You bring your foot down as hard as you can, hoping to stomp on the offender's toes. You're rewarded with a grunt of pain, and you turn around to face whatever creep dared to touch you --

Oh, great. Jack is doubled over with laughter, while the man next to him is wincing and wiggling his foot. "Sorry, dollface. Got the wrong guy," he says, winking at you with infuriating smugness. "Told ya this one was a handful," he says, turning to his companion, who is almost -- but not quite -- as tall and burly as Jack, dressed in a pinstriped suit nearly -- although not quite -- as nice as Jack's own. They both wear wide blue bands of ribbon on their hats, blue striped ties and flashy jewelry. This marks them as being gangland figures affiliated with the Carpainter Family, one of the most powerful gangs in New Ebott. You try to avoid any contact with the gangs, but even you know about this one. They're active in this area, and the construction company where you used to be a secretary had ties to them. When things had been at their worst, you'd been so desperate you had been tempted to approach them for a loan. But you figured that would end with prostituting yourself anyway, so you went to Muffet instead.

"Congratulations on your engagement," you say in the iciest voice you can summon. "I hope that married bliss will cure you of those pesky wandering hands of yours."

"Like you didn't love it," Jack answers with a knowing wink as his companion snickers. "'Sides, you know damn well every other dame here'd be _flattered_. You just oughta be glad ya stomped on Steve here, not me," he says, jerking his thumb toward the other man. He leans forward, grinning. "I've had men _whacked_ for less." He lets this sink in, then throws his head back and roars with laughter. "Look at her. Can't figure out if I'm kidding or not! Anyhow." He sidles closer to you and lowers his voice. "Just wanted to say, _you_ don't gotta worry 'bout a wedding present. Was thinkin', maybe instead you'd join me and my beautiful wife-to-be some night for a little fun --"

Gracie appears next to him, laughing and giving him a playful smack on the arm. "Oh, you big _brute_ ," she chides him teasingly. "You'll _scandalize_ the poor girl."

You're seething -- you've had _quite_ enough of being treated like a sex toy lately -- but there are downsides to letting a man like Jack know precisely where he can shove his suggestion. So you smile at the two of them in a blandly pleasant way. "I was thinking perhaps a toaster. If you'll excuse me..."

"Going to the little girls' room? I'll go with you," Gracie says, linking arms with you and steering you away from Jack.

There's an awkward silence as the two of you walk together, and she's unable to meet your eye. Finally she breaks the silence in the privacy of the ladies' restroom. "I know you don't approve of what I'm doing," she says as she applies rouge and powder to her pale face from a compact tucked into her tiny golden dance purse. You can't help but look at it a little enviously -- your own keys and some cash rest uncomfortably in your bra. "Mama wouldn't either, if she could see me. She always said a woman who marries for money earns _every_ cent. So..." She shrugs. "She brought home a parade of worthless clowns. Always just seemed to me like she worked herself to the bone and died _broke_."

You're taken aback by this. By unspoken agreement neither of you have ever talked about your pasts in anything more than allusions. "I'm sorry," you say softly.

"I could do a lot worse than Jack," she continues. "We _do_ love each other... He might have a bit of a wandering eye, but he really _has_ been good to me. And I truly believe married life will settle him down some." She looks at you, her expression worried. "You understand, don't you? It's not like I'm a gold digger..."

"You just want someone to take care of you," you say with a sigh. "Yeah. I understand."

She throws her arms around you, and you accept the hug rather awkwardly. "I knew you would... It's _hard_ out there, with no one looking out for you. And a man like Jack... Well, _no one's_ gonna mess with _him_."

"Or his girl..."

"Exactly," she says, her voice quiet. She sighs, releasing you and looking at you with concern. "I'd feel so much _better_ if someone was looking out for _you_ , too. Why don't you give Steve a chance? He's really _very_ nice..." She frowns. "Well, they _do_ call him 'Red Hands.' But that doesn't mean he couldn't be a good _husband_."

Whenever you find yourself single, Gracie always tries to set you up with Jack's friends. However, since your first boyfriend Louis died in a gang war, you've steered clear of anyone involved with any of the New Ebott gangs. "You know the rule," you say, shrugging. " _No gangsters_." Unless they're paying you an awful lot of money, you think guiltily.

The two of you rejoin Jack and Steve, who are deep in their own conversation. Jack is gesturing exuberantly, which, combined with his blue ribbons and pinstripes, has the effect of creating a little bubble of space around the four of you in a room that, by now, is rather crowded. No one seems keen to rescue you from this situation by asking you to dance. After all, everyone probably thinks you're the moll of one of the two men, and petitioning you for a dance might be bad for their health.

"So about my wedding dress, I've been giving great thought to the _neckline_ ," Gracie says, touching her throat. "I've always been drawn to the _traditional_ , which would mean a higher neckline, but there's nothing to say I couldn't have those traditional elements _elsewhere_ on the dress, and perhaps go with a _sweetheart_ neckline, or some sort of _lace overlay_... And then of course there's the _flowers_ to consider..."

As Gracie prattles on, the men's conversation catches your ear. Jack loves to yammer on about gang business, lest anyone in a ten-mile radius somehow forget that he's a big shot. Ordinarily, if you're forced into close enough proximity with Jack to be subjected to his patter you'd tune it out entirely, but right now you'd rather listen to gossip about the New Ebott gangs than the relative merits of silk and tulle. 

Actually, it takes a good deal of self-control not to ask what the two men might know about a skeleton monster who works with humans. But given the lengths to which Sans is going to make sure he can never be connected with you, you have no intention of blowing your cover yourself. Still, perhaps they're going to mention him?

"... The Executioner's been making some bizarre moves lately, dunno what the hell's goin' on in his head. Nearly took out Little Mickey the other day."

Jack whistles. "No kidding? He's probably lucky he didn't, Mad Dog woulda had his goddamn nuts for breakfast..."

You frown. These two might not even _call_ Sans by his name, because the New Ebott gangsters all go by nicknames. Jack is known as The Bear. Gracie thinks the name suits him because at heart, he's a great cuddly teddy bear of a man. You think it more likely he got the nickname because he gives the impression that he could swat a full-grown man to the ground and rip off his scalp without turning a hair.

"... What? You don't _like_ orange blossoms?" Gracie asks, misinterpreting your expression. 

"No, no, I was just distracted," you hasten to say. "I think orange blossoms would be lovely, maybe as a circlet, or sprays of them above your ears with a Juliet veil..." You might not have given _quite_ as much thought to your dream wedding as Gracie has, but that doesn't mean you've never entertained some daydreams of your own. Of course, it was more fun to plan out your dream wedding when you were younger... when you took for granted things like an unlimited budget, real flowers and a mother who dreamed of seeing you married.

She beams. "I had thought about some at the neckline, but I do like the idea of the sprays. Or a _tiara_ , perhaps! With a beautiful array of glittering diamonds. Of course, I wouldn't want to be _tacky_... Nothing too big, nothing that would overwhelm my face, just a little bit of sparkle right here," she says, indicating her hairline. "And of course, I just _can't_ decide about the veil..."

"...Heard from The Reaper, vice squad hit both Zwillman's and the Red Rabbit late last night. Lots of arrests, confiscated a hell of a lot of booze. Didn't find who they were really lookin' for, though."

Jack chuckles dryly. "'Course they didn't."

"...of _course_ the dress must have lace, but what _kind_ of lace? I've always liked the look of guipure lace, but it's just not as _delicate_ as Chantilly lace. And where to put it? I think I'd like it over the _sleeves_ , perhaps on the _bodice_... but what I'd really like would be a whole _train_ of lace. Oh! Can you even _imagine_ how lavish that would look?..."

"... Did'ja hear Blue Dahlia burned another one of the downtown corps?"

"Yeah? She's a hell of a dame," Jack answers with a grin. "Well, if they don't want her stealing all their secrets they oughta lock'em up better."

"... don't know if I want a Juliet veil or a double-tiered veil, but one thing I'm sure of is a lace border around the edge, I've _always_ loved the look of the lace falling delicately over the bride's gown, it's just _not_ the same when there's no border. And of course you have to have some sort of detail on the _back_ of the dress, because after all _that's_ what everyone will be looking at. I'm thinking perhaps a _peplum_ or a row of _mother of pearl buttons_..."

Steve leans forward, and you can just barely catch what he's saying. "...If the Monotolis don't remember their place damn quick, there's gonna be trouble. Don't care _how_ much of the east side they run now..."

Jack scowls. "If you ask me, we've been goin' too easy on 'em. Letting 'em grow like damn weeds. After what they did to Drum Roll we shoulda come down on 'em like a ton of bricks..."

"... haven't even _started_ to think about what _shoes_ I shall wear... I'll have to have new ones made, of course. Perhaps with little diamond rosettes right on the front. And I'll need a garter! Blue, of course. And entirely new lingerie, a whole set..."

"... they've been pissin' off Papa Nicky real good, goin' after some of his folks," Jack says, narrowing his eyes. "And if he takes the bait, that brings in Lucky L an' Needles. Then things could _really_ get heated up..."

"You think The Smiler might get involved?"

"Hell, maybe. Not like he hasn't had it out for Needles for a while now. Could be he'll make his move, an' then..." Jack draws a finger across his throat.

"Just let him try. Butcher Bob will carve him up an' serve him with a little sprig of parsley on the side."

"... do think that a dropped waistline looks best on me, but it looks so _dated_ now. Perhaps a princess waistline? Or a little belt, with some decoration on the buckle. Oh, maybe that would be too _much_..."

"...Gotta factor Dead Eyes in, too..."

Jack smirks. "Ya hear the latest 'bout _that_ bastard?" Steve shakes his head, and Jack continues with evident glee "Lucky told me he saw him the other day walkin' Sergeant's _dogs_."

The two men laugh heartily. "The hell's that all about? He lose a bet or something?"

"Lucky _asked_ him. An' Dead Eyes just gave him this look and said to stop _houndin'_ him."

Steve screws up his face in confusion. "That some kinda joke?"

"Damned if I know."

"Sounds like a load of crap. Lucky musta been messing with you. Or high as hell or something."

Jack chuckles. "Yeah, probably."

Gracie is looking at you expectantly. Oops -- you got a little too caught up in the wrong conversation. "Uh... Sorry, I kind of spaced out," you mutter. "What'd you say?"

"How Jack _proposed_! Don't you want to hear about how Jack _proposed_?"

"Oh, uh, of course --"

"Well, first he took me to Pinnacle, you know it, of _course_ , it's on the very top floor of the Eisley Building, you can see the whole _city_ from there and it's just _gorgeous_ , and I was wearing my new _pink_ dress, it has big puffy sleeves and embroidery at the neckline, and he gave me a _corsage_ of red _roses_ and baby's breath and pinned it _right here_..."

A wave of erotic energy spreads through your veins, and your eyes open wide as you breathe in sharply. "...shrimp cocktail, with this delicious tangy sauce _quite_ unlike anything I've ever _tasted_ before, and then a Waldorf salad -- My dear, are you quite all right?" Gracie asks.

"Uh... It's ten o'clock? Already?" Another wave hits you, and you shiver, feeling your nipples harden and your pulse throb in your vulva. Crap. You totally forgot that Sans would want to do that to you. Are you contractually obligated to get yourself off in return?

"Night's still young, ladies," Jack chimes in with a grin. He's looking rather pointedly at your chest. You glance down. Oh, for God's sake, you think, your cheeks heating up. Your nipples are so hard their outlines are plainly visible through your dress. At this rate that creep is probably going to suggest a threesome again. And honestly? Right now you'd be tempted to say _yes_ , hell you'd kind of like to invite _Steve_ , and _that_ means you should _really_ get out of here _right now_.

You turn to Gracie, putting your hand to your head as a third wave of Sans' magic hits. Now is _not_ the time to remember how it felt to be on your knees in front of him. "Um... I'm feeling lightheaded," you mumble. "I should get home..."

"Poor thing! It _has_ gotten awfully hot in here. Jack darling, we've _got_ to get her out _immediately_." She takes your arm, squeezing it.

"I -- I can take a taxi..."

" _Nonsense_ ," Gracie insists, and before you know it, you've been bundled into Jack's car. Jack drives as if he's piloting an ambulance, and after he runs the second red light you close your eyes for the rest of the trip, praying to whatever deity might be out there that you don't see the inside of a real ambulance tonight. 

At least for now Sans seems to have stopped activating his magic inside you, leaving you stuck in a strange headspace somewhere between horny and annoyed. You should have remembered that was going to happen, but you just got so carried away... You feel a little like Cinderella, but all _she_ had to deal with was her dress disintegrating. 

You make it to your apartment building in one piece, take your leave of Gracie and the two men, rush inside and make a beeline for your bed. Is Sans wondering why he hasn't felt anything in response? Maybe he even worried about you? Probably not, you think with a wry grin as you play with your nipples. Of _course_ he'd realize it's more likely that you were just out too late than that something happened to you. 

You start to touch yourself, but somehow it's hard to focus on getting yourself off. You're tired from all that dancing, and besides it's been a hell of a day... Your mind keeps drifting off to everything that happened this morning. You thought you'd never see Ionathia and Adaleia again, and instead they're back in your life... along with Jerren. Is it _really_ just a coincidence he's doing something so wildly out of character as volunteering at a hospital? And he seems to be trying to ingratiate himself with your sister -- 

Sans' magic shimmers lightly within your body, as if he's reminding you to think about _him_ instead. "Yeah, yeah," you grumble, but it succeeds in refocusing your attention, and you summon images of his hand on your head as you lavished attention on his cock, desperate to please him. Blood rushes to your clit as you touch yourself, your fingers luxuriating in the folds of your wet, soft vulva. You picture Sans' cock pressing up against your slit, then thrusting inside you. He did say he'd take his time with you in a couple of days... Anticipation and lust rise within you, and soon you're at the brink of orgasm, your hands moving quickly as you push yourself over the edge.

Your heart pounds as you lay there, entirely exhausted, and as your muscles contract, Sans activates the magic inside you again, even harder than before. You cry out and squirm helplessly on the bed, feeling entirely overwhelmed. He'd better be happy _now_ , you think, grinning. 

So much happened today... Someone you hoped you'd never see again is back in the picture, seeing your old friends reminded you of the life you've lost, Sans used your body and left you feeling lonely, and your friend is shackling herself to a jerk in exchange for the kind of affection, comfort and protection that you might never have. 

Still... somehow, right now, in the afterglow of a really good orgasm... none of it seems to matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on this chapter:
> 
> \- The book Reader is reading is a reference to Agatha Christie's "Murder on the Orient Express." I don't name it because I've avoided thinking about the world outside of New Ebott. In this AU, is there an England with a prolific mystery author living in it? Is there an Orient Express speeding from Paris to Istanbul? And if so, what relationship do these places have to New Ebott? Thing is, if I ever write an original, sprawling fantasy epic, I'll likely come up with hundreds of countries and complex relationships and histories for them. But for the purposes of this fanfic I'm comfortable thinking of New Ebott as the center of the world and leaving everything else vague. (It's consumed my life enough as it is...) In the same way, although there's a specific date on which the story starts, don't read too much into it -- this is certainly not historical fiction -- and although I've borrowed some names from Earthbound, don't read too much into that either!
> 
> \- I owe a great debt for the dancing scenes to [Walter Nelson's page on historical dance](http://www.walternelson.com/dr/historical-dance), which gave me a very good idea not just of how Reader might have danced, but how dancing fit into her social life. For more information about how she's dancing, start with [this page on the Jazz Age foxtrot](http://www.walternelson.com/dr/foxtrot). Although Reader started life as a shameless self-insert, once I started making this into an honest-to-god story she diverged from me in many ways, and this is one of them: to say I have two left feet is an insult to perfectly serviceable left feet everywhere. Well, she may be better at dancing than I am, but unlike Reader I am a fantastic cook.
> 
> \- Reader's reaction to Gracie's engagement owes a lot to [How To Politely React To Your Friend's Terrible Engagement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VozVSHq3hwc). 
> 
> \- By the way, Gracie is carrying a cute little dance purse [similar to this one](https://www.powerofonedesigns.com/products/vintage-purse-mondaine-compact-purse-1930s-compact-dance-purse-wristlet-compact-mirror-compact-powder-compact-rouge-compact-art-deco-compact). Worth marrying Jack for? Well, no, but still charming.
> 
> \- yanderebunny303 drew beautiful fanart for Chapter 7 of [Reader in the dress she wears out dancing](http://yanderebunny303.deviantart.com/art/A-Puzzle-just-for-Me-by-Neroli9-fanart-645644117)! I just love the dress, and how darn cute she is in this one in general :)
> 
> \- Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for beta reading! I wrote about [how we started working together and why she's so amazing to work with](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/152135289815/apjfm-status-update-worlds-best-beta-reader). I'm lucky to have found her and if you like this story I assure you you're lucky too.
> 
> \- To help you keep track of what happens when, here's the [calendar current to chapter 7.](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/152337509590/apjfm-calendar-to-chapter-7)
> 
> \- Look for chapter 8 in another couple of weeks, I think.


	8. your wife comes back to you, you sober up and you go back to bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To set the stage for the evening's conversation: [Feeling Like A Dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZk7XWrOiHk).

The next morning, you bring the article you'd torn out of the newspaper yesterday up to Sasha. "We made the papers again," you say, waving it at her.

She rolls her eyes. "Read it to me."

She snickers so much she gives herself another coughing fit. "Oh, that was a good one. Dunno what you're looking so grouchy for. It's lots better than the kinda stuff they _used_ to write about you, right?"

You scowl. "Yeah, well. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

The underground papers, eager to capitalize on the public's love for salacious stories about the Courtyard, had slandered you while reporting the story of your mother's standing trial for treason. Not only had most of the details been entirely falsified, they'd felt the need to turn your character into some sort of amoral schemer. Your stomach still turns when you think about all that they'd written about you, and how the people who had read those stories had looked at you when you'd left the surface and gone to them asking for help. 

" _I_ think this one is great," Sasha says with a grin. "I mean, how'd you go from being a fallen woman to becoming some sort of angel of mercy at Summers Hospital? Lemme think about that..."

She closes her eyes, grinning to herself as she contemplates plot lines. You smile, too, watching her. When she's thinking of a story for you she looks a little more like her old self and a little less like a sickly waif who by any rights should be dead by now. "Got it. So last time, we got pelted off the vaudeville circuit with rotten tomatoes, and the other you took that job as the cigarette girl at a speakeasy. There, you met someone, and you fell madly in love. He was... a big-shot gangster," she continues with relish. "A hit man and a generous tipper. And he promised to marry you and take you away from it all."

"Why's he have to be a gangster?"

"Because this is an alternate universe! _She_ does things that the real you would _never_ do. And you swore off gangsters after what happened with Louis, right?"

"Indeed," you say, smiling wryly. Sasha has no idea that things have changed. Well, Sans isn't a gangster. He's a freelancer.

"But the very day he proposed to you, he got whitepox and died," she continues.

"It doesn't kill people that fast."

" _Fine_. The week before he was going to propose to you he got whitepox. And then he proposed on his deathbed... no, that doesn't make a lot of sense. Maybe you got married in the hospital and spent your wedding night crying over his corpse?"

"Have I ever told you how much I appreciate your flair for the melodramatic?"

Sasha grins. "The _point_ is, you were broken-hearted. And you pledged your life to fighting the disease."

"I can see that."

"Is that what you'd do if I died?"

"You're not going to die."

"But what if I do?"

"You're _not_."

You've never really allowed yourself to think that far into the future. The truth is, you don't know what you'd do. Having been cursed to outlive the rest of your family, you're not entirely sure you could take it if Sasha died, too.

"How d'you know?"

"Have you predicted it?"

She grimaces. "No. But I... I do think I saw something this morning," she says, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"What was it?" you ask, leaning forward.

"I predicted I'm going to be in this darn bed all day."

You blink. "I can't quite tell if that's a joke or not."

"Well, it's certainly not _funny_." She looks down at the bed with distaste.

The two of you are quiet for some time, as she contemplates her own misery and you consider all the things on your mind. You lean over, resting your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. "You know what's bothering me?"

"What?" she says, lifting her head with difficulty and looking curiously at you.

"So everyone loves to hear gossip about us, right?"

She rolls her eyes. "No kidding."

"Well, word must have gotten around the hospital that you're here. People noticed us when I first took you here, and it feels like every time I come up here everyone's staring at me. But..."

"But?"

"Not a word in the underground papers," you say with a shrug. "I've been watching." 

"Huh." She considers this for a moment. "You think it's because of surface censorship?"

"Could be. But it's different keeping things that happen in the Courtyard secret. I don't possibly see how this can be kept out of the papers unless... Unless there's someone who _wants_ it hushed up." 

Someone who doesn't want your presence to cause a scene? Someone who doesn't want you harassed? Someone who doesn't want you found?

Possibly... someone who writes poetry about you? But why would he _do_ that? 

Sasha frowns. "You and your conspiracy theories."

"You have to admit it's weird."

"Yeah... It is," she says, her expression disturbed.

You're almost tempted to cast off your anonymity, storm the newspaper offices, find whoever it is that writes all this garbage about you and get some goddamn answers. 

Of course, that little excursion might end with an article titled "Lost Sister Arrested After Slowly Choking Life Out Of Journalist."

You make your way underground, shielding yourself from the drizzle with your umbrella. Up on the surface, you used to rather like rainy days, particularly the rainbows that would sometimes follow. Down here, the rain just seems to intensify the gloom. 

Before heading to the apartment, you pick up a couple meals worth of food that'll store well, should be quick to prepare and for the most part are within your abilities. Sandwich fixings, canned soup, oatmeal, some cookies, some tea. Spaghetti and jarred sauce, too, even though that may tax your limited cooking skills. Your sister makes it when the two of you have had a particularly rough day, and some comfort food would not go amiss. You tried to make it once, too. Sasha took one look at her sauce-splattered kitchen and banned you from ever trying again, even though you _swore_ you wouldn't forget to cover the pot next time. You also buy a new book for your sister, then head through the rain to the apartment, getting there a little early. You put away the food, then check the notebook.

\- day went QUITE well. thanks. 

Is he just referring to whatever work he was doing yesterday, or was he thinking about that blowjob when he wrote this? You smile as you continue reading. 

\- appreciate your thinking of me, but i can't eat human food. i'll stock the place with some of our food, though. it's all safe for humans, so feel free to try anything i pick up. 

He can't eat human food? You'd realized there was a difference between human and monster food, since monster food always makes your body feel a little different after you eat it, but you hadn't known that monsters couldn't even _eat_ the same things you can. You'd assumed that monster food was more like a different kind of cuisine. 

You might be sleeping with a monster, but you still have a lot to learn.

\- could you try to find a robe for me? 

So now you're his personal shopper, too? Well, for what he's paying you, he could probably get you to do his ironing and tie his shoes.

\- i'll be by today, but just to drop off that surprise i mentioned yesterday. i should be there right at four tomorrow, though.

The surprise, huh? His day really must have gone well. So he'll be by at some point... Are you supposed to get all dressed up if he's just going to drop something off? You guess it's part of what you're being paid for, and you get to work, radically changing your appearance. 

When you're not dancing, you generally dress in a conservative, even drab way, with minimal makeup. After everything you've gone through, calling attention to yourself makes you twitchy. You must admit the girl in the mirror looks appealing, with her colorful dress and bright red lipstick. You twirl around and your skirt flares out at your knees, making you smile. Your mind wanders to the last part of Sans' note. He'll be here right at four tomorrow, he wrote... at which point he'll take his time with you. That sure makes it sound like he's looking forward to it as much as you are. Your cheeks start to heat up.

The rain falling outside makes the solitude all the more oppressive, and you wish you had some music to listen to. Your life has felt too quiet since you sold your radio, and you'll be glad when Sans finds one for this place. You curl up on the couch, reading the book you bought for Sasha. It's the new one in a series she loves about a teenage girl who solves mysteries. In this one, the intrepid detective searches for a missing pair of twins, winding up at a mysterious old house. She'll be delighted to have you read it to her... although it's clear your voice talent doesn't stack up to Jerren's. 

The thought fills you with trepidation. Is he buttering up your sister right now? And if so, what's he after? Did he have something to do with suppressing the news about you? Could that mean... he's trying to make amends for how things ended? For how he tried to take advantage of you, for not lifting a finger for nearly six years to help you and your sister?

_Stop_ it, you tell yourself. You're going to drive yourself up the wall if you let his damn games get to you. It all could be a complete coincidence, anyway... You force your attention back to your book.

About a half hour before seven, Sans appears in the middle of the room. He's holding his coat and hat, but they're both completely dry, as is he. It only makes sense -- why subject yourself to the rain if you can teleport?

His grin seems even wider than usual. "evenin', sweetheart. nah, don't get up," he says as you lay your book down on the coffee table. "like i said, just here to drop something off." He looks at you again. "shoulda told you ya didn't have to get all fixed up."

"I hate to break the illusion," you say with a smile, reaching for your book again.

He chuckles. "can't say i mind. well, carry on. i'll only be here a few minutes, just gotta get this set up."

He sets his coat and hat on the table and starts to inspect the living room. Finally, he shifts the table to a different spot, leaving an open space by the wall. He evaluates the area, tapping the bone around his mouth, takes a step back, then disappears. 

He reappears a few seconds later with a tall record player and radio cabinet, his back to you as he places it against the wall. It's made from wood, about shoulder-width, and comes up to the base of your ribcage.

Your eyes widen, and your book nearly slips out of your hands. "Oh!"

He moves it over to the right a few inches, steps back and evaluates its placement, then gives it a pat. "hell of a toy, yeah?" he says, his voice affectionate. "hold on, i've gotta get the records." He vanishes again.

You put your book down and approach the cabinet with reverence and fear. Your hands are shaking. You can't even bring yourself to touch it. 

Sans can't see you like this. You've got to hide. 

You sprint to the bathroom, lock yourself in and sit hunched over on the toilet seat, your legs weak.

That cabinet once had a place of honor in your family's living room.

You were sixteen when your parents brought it home as a birthday present for your mother. You and your brother used to argue over who got to choose the next record; he adored ragtime, while you preferred opera. You'd have Ionathia and Adaleia over to practice dance steps, and would try to teach them to six-year old Sasha when she could be corralled. Sasha was fascinated by the radio, and was always getting scolded for shaking off her nanny so she could snatch precious minutes of forbidden soap operas and adventure dramas. Like many Courtyard parents, yours feared the influence of what was considered to be the coarser underground culture. But your father, who was born underground, never lost his love for New Ebott's hapless baseball team, the Krakens. He liked to listen to the games live, making caustic commentary on the incompetence of the players and the mental capacities of the team managers. You and your mother would listen to opera together. She'd translate for you if she knew the language, and she liked to try to use the opportunity to impart lessons about love and relationships, warning you against men like the manipulative, scheming villains and pointing out the techniques the heroines used to charm their targets. Late at night, when she thought her children were all asleep, she would take a dose of her sleeping medicine, put on one of her favorite records and escape to her own private world.

When your mother was arrested, you, your siblings and father would temporarily forget about the horror facing your family by putting on a few records each evening. After Mattias died, the three of you sat a little closer together as you listened. Finally, it was just you and Sasha. You put your arms around her as you the two of you filled your hearts with the music your parents and brother had loved -- knowing that the records and cabinet, along with everything else you owned, would be seized and sold at auction soon.

How can you go _possibly_ go back out there? You _can't_ \-- and you must. You breathe deeply, summoning all of your poise, tamping down those memories. If you don't get control of yourself, Sans will notice something's wrong. You certainly aren't eager to have a conversation with him about how you used to live like a goddess above New Ebott, among people who kill monsters for fun, until you wound up in complete disgrace.

You hear a loud thump and the sound of Sans moving around in the living room. The longer it takes you to leave the bathroom, the more likely it is he'll realize something's wrong. This is _not_ the hardest challenge you've ever faced, you remind yourself. You can do it. You flush the toilet, wash your hands and check your makeup, then re-emerge, pasting on a smile.

Sans is leaning over the cabinet, inspecting the record player. Absorbed in his new toy, he doesn't even turn to look at you as you open the door. "god, that took forever. if i'd have had ears, that guy woulda talked'em right off."

"I never expected something like _this_ would be your surprise..." Which is entirely true.

"it's a beauty, isn't it?"

"It's amazing."

He glances at you and raises his eyebrows.

* _she sounds sincere, but she's looking at it like it's going to bite her. did she identify it as surface tech that quickly?_

* _huh._

* _it's not THAT surprising, i guess. i'd figured her background was upper-class. still, if i'm right, she or her family would have run in some fairly elite circles at some point._

"you know what this is, don't you?"

You freeze. No -- no, he can't mean _that_. If he knew this had once been yours, he'd almost certainly have a stronger reaction than this. He must just think you've seen this kind of thing before. Maybe he figures you used to work on the surface, you're from an upper-class family, or you dated a gang boss at some point. Underground, collecting technology produced on the surface is often a way to show off obscene wealth. 

If you asked him how he knew, he'd certainly say it was a lucky guess -- and you'd rather not go into the subject. So you just answer honestly.

"It's... surface tech, isn't it?" you say, your voice quiet.

"bingo. doesn't scare ya, does it?" he says with a wink.

"Well, it's _completely_ illegal and must have cost you a fortune, but... aside from that, no."

He pats you on the back. "only MILDLY illegal by my standards. it's just a radio and record player, you oughta see some of the shit that gets smuggled down. found this teeny tiny little listening device the other day, must have come from up there." He indicates the size of the device with his fingers. "but who cares 'bout all that?" He turns his attention back to his new acquisition. "something like this, it's all i need." 

You study it, trying to get used to being in the same room with it again. Eight years and it's just as beautiful as you remember... It has stylish, geometric designs carved into the wood and laid over the speaker. Art deco was the height of fashion in the Concourse when your parents commissioned this cabinet; the look later diffused underground, such that the newest, most avant-garde buildings built in New Ebott always seem dated to you. 

The bottom half holds a speaker, then there's a radio embedded into the middle and the top of the cabinet flips up to reveal a record player. Although the radio and speaker are superior to what can be bought underground, the record player is what truly makes it surface tech. The kinds of gramophones available underground play records that are about three minutes long; you were so used to longer recordings that you could never understand how anyone could be excited by a device that played three measly minutes of music at a time. This one plays larger records that are a half hour long, a tall stack of which have been set on the carpet next to the cabinet.

Sans gives the cabinet another pat and goes to collect his coat and hat. "well, now that's settled, i guess i oughta..." He looks longingly at the cabinet. "hmm..." He looks over at the records, then back at the cabinet. 

* _not like any choice i make actually matters._

He shrugs. "well. why the hell not." He goes to the closet, then returns without his coat, hat, jacket and holster. Twice now he's taken off outer layers of clothing behind the closet door, as if he was hiding himself with it. Is he doing that so that you don't see his gun? That's really thoughtful of him...

He loosens his tie and pushes up his shirtsleeves to his elbows as he returns to the cabinet. He plugs it in then switches on the radio, tuning it to an adventure drama, then a jazz performance. "god. fantastic, isn't it?" he says, caressing the top of the cabinet.

"It sounds wonderful," you say, touching it tentatively. "Can I ask how in the world you got ahold of something like this? Or if you told me, would you have to kill me?"

Sans chuckles. "story's not all that interesting, just bought it off a guy who collects this kinda shit. he picked it up 'cause of its history but never listened to it. fuckin' waste," he says, looking fondly at it. "figured this beauty was better off with someone who'd appreciate it."

Let's _not_ talk about its history, you think. "You must really love music, then?"

"yeah," he says, running a finger over the tone arm of the record player. "i go out to a lot of shows, but i'd always liked the idea of having something like this. never quite got around to it, though. i happened to notice this the night i made ya that proposal. kept thinking, it'd be perfect for the new place. eventually i got its owner to agree." There's something satisfied about his smile.

"What do you like to listen to?"

"jazz and blues, mostly. anything ya tend to hear in a speakeasy."

"So you spend a lot of time in speakeasies?"

"you could call me a regular," he says, grinning as if recalling a private joke. "what, you don't approve?"

"I wouldn't say that exactly," you answer, a little flustered. The truth is that your imagination is caught by the idea of secret dens of music and revelry all over the city, lent spice by the threat of vice squad raids or gang skirmishes, and you think it'd be thrilling to see one for yourself. But should you ever be caught at one, you're not sure your falsified identity would stand up to official scrutiny. And then... front page of the papers. "Uh, I just... I've never been to one."

He raises an eyebrow. 

* _millions of dames in the city, and i buy one who's never seen the inside of a speakeasy._

* _guess opposites do attract._

"missing out," he says with a grin as he tunes the radio to a different station. 

As he twiddles the dial, trying to get the strongest signal, you consider other conversational paths that lead away from this cabinet's history. "It must have been brought down on one of the private tramways... Wouldn't it be difficult to coordinate smuggling something this big?"

"i've seen bigger things get brought down. there tends to be a lot of money involved." He winks. 

What was Sans told about the cabinet's history? Does he think, like much of New Ebott, that you don't exist -- that you and Sasha were made up to sell more papers to scandal-hungry humans? You're desperate to know, but you don't think you could possibly ask him without inadvertently giving yourself away. Your family's estate was seized by the crown and was broken up and sold at auction after you and Sasha left the surface. Someone in the Courtyard must have bought this, then took the risk of selling it underground. Perhaps it was someone you'd known.... perhaps someone who'd refused to help you and Sasha was happy to profit off of your family's misfortunes. You're dying to go through the records, to check the back for the initials that your brother carved into the cabinet, but you have to wait...

"now, let's see..." Sans selects a record, lifts the top of the cabinet and places it on the turntable. His grin is wide as he places the needle over the record. It drops into the groove with a small pop, the record starts spinning and a big band jazz song fills the apartment. The record isn't one from your family's collection, you think with relief; certain records from the collection would have probably made you start bawling, but this one must have been acquired by whoever sold the cabinet underground. Sans closes his eyes, smiling with satisfaction. "here, sit down. let's listen." He gestures over to the couch. 

You sit down, and he sits next to you, stretching his arms out on the back of the couch, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He looks relaxed and really rather friendly. Seeing him like this makes it seem silly that you'd initially thought him intimidating, and you relax a little yourself.

Sans gestures up toward the surface with his middle finger. "say what you will 'bout those assholes, they do SOME things right. this thing's maybe seven, eight years old, still beats the hell out of anything you can get down here," he says as the first song ends.

* _of course, it's nothing like what i used to have. but what else is new?_

"It's amazing," you agree as the next song starts up.

You study him as the music plays. Was he one of the gangsters Jack mentioned yesterday? When he leaves this apartment, do people call him The Smiler? The Reaper? Dead Eyes? What role does he play in that world? You know damn well that the kind of money he has doesn't come from feeding orphans or making prudent, long-term investments... it only comes from doing things that no one else can do, or that no one else will do. Of course, his abilities must put him in a class of his own. After all, he can teleport, he can give his magic physical form and manipulate it, and he set up a system for keeping this apartment protected that you suspect is much more complex than he made it out to be. Who knows what else he could do? Given the power and flexibility of his magic, he must be able to put it to several uses that aren't _necessarily_ violent... As if he doesn't carry a gun, you remind yourself. There's no getting around the fact that you've morally compromised yourself by making a deal with this man. Still, it's hard to think of him as some sort of hard-boiled hit man when he's so relaxed, so absorbed in the music... acting for all the world like a little kid with a new toy.

Sans opens his eyes and glances at you as the second song ends, and you look away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. "odd to think of this being recorded up there, yeah?" he asks with a grin.

"And played down here... It really doesn't worry you, owning something like this?"

He chuckles. "busting me for owning surface tech would be like busting me for tax evasion. 'sides, this place is leased in your name, isn't it?"

You give him a dirty look. "Setting me up to take the fall, huh?"

This seems to amuse him. "nothing to worry 'bout, sweetheart. anyone tries to put ya in the big house, i'll come getcha out." He winks.

"Somehow that's not as reassuring as you seem to think it is," you say, raising an eyebrow. 

He grins and pats your shoulder. "s'all right. i told you i'd take care of you, didn't i? it'll be fine."

True, he did tell you that. Of course, he clearly meant 'financially, in exchange for sex.' Would he actually go so far as to bust you out of prison? It'd be a simple task for someone who can teleport, after all. That could very well be one of the services he offers. You can't help but smile at the idea of a jailbreak, and your imagination spins out a vision of going on the lam with him, robbing banks for real. Of course, you wouldn't actually go to jail for something like this, it'd just be confiscated and you'd pay a fine. Still... somehow his casual offer of protection strikes you as rather sweet.

The two of you lapse into silence again, listening to the next song. When it's finished, he stands up and goes to the stack of records on the floor. "c'mere. let's see what my new collection is like," he says, waving you over. "kind of a shame i can't pick up new records for it easily, but i'll put the word out that i'm lookin' to buy."

He sits cross-legged on the floor, and you sit across from him, smoothing your dress over your legs. "i bought the lot of'em just now, dunno what exactly the guy pawned off on me. looks like there's lots of classical..." He inspects a record that you recognize as being from your father's collection. If he wasn't so interested in it, he'd certainly notice the look on your face. "and some jazz... older stuff... kind of a lot of opera," he says, looking at an album set of four records. You swallow, willing yourself not to give anything away. You've had almost six years to practice escaping notoriety, but this is a test of your will. He puts it down and picks up a blues record, looking at it with great interest. "oh, this is perfect. didn't expect to find something like this."

You take the opera album and run your fingers over the taped-up rip in the front. Sasha had torn the sleeve by accident. You'd scolded her and she'd snapped right back... Luckily, Sans is enthralled by his own record, pulling out the liner notes and reading them. "lucky on bass, baccio on drums... damn. someone had good taste. didn't know they'd even been up there for a recording. oughta ask'em about it sometime."

For those who weren't born there, a place on the surface requires unusual talent or a knack for doing the kind of work necessary to support that talent. The corps headquartered in the Concourse, for example, scout out people such as your father, who was an engineering genius, but also require secretaries, janitors and so on, usually poached from the downtown corps. That means that for the millions of humans living underground in New Ebott, being able to see the surface is improbable but not impossible.

One path there is through music: at intervals, groups or artists that win fame underground are invited to record and perform on the surface, which is not only lucrative but also regarded as a great honor. The ensuing concerts were nearly the only thing that could get your mother out of the Courtyard. She always came home acting like she'd traveled around the world. 

"newer one here... gypsy jazz. perfect." Sans admires another record, reading the dust jacket. "and some more opera... hey, y'know what all great opera singers have in common?"

"What?"

"they're all dead."

Taken off-guard by the joke, you burst into nervous laughter, and he smiles. "That's horrible! I love opera," you say, narrowing your eyes at him in annoyance that's only partially feigned.

* _yet another marker of an upper-class background. really starting to wonder how she ended up like this._

"good, then someone'll get some use outta these records," he says, passing another of your own albums to you for inspection. He picks up a jazz record and pulls out the liner notes, reading through them. "to be fair, i've got more jokes about jazz and blues than i do jokes about opera."

"Let's hear one."

He looks up at you, and the spots of light in his eye sockets seem to brighten. "sure. what happens when you play the blues backwards?"

"What?"

"your wife comes back to you, ya sober up and you go back to bed."

You giggle. "I don't get the part about going back to bed..."

"first line of half the blues songs ever written is 'bout waking up in the morning. then something bad happens, right? every day, ya open your eyes and it all goes downhill from there." He pantomimes something sliding down a slope. "then you gotta wake up again the next day. no wonder ya got the blues." 

* _it's all a little too on-the-nose. it's usually not a good idea for me to listen to the blues very long._

"I see..."

"along those same lines, what'd the blues singer want on his gravestone?"

"What?"

"'didn't wake up this morning...'" This elicits another laugh, and he smiles. 

The two of you lapse into silence as he continues looking through the records.

"Uh... I thought you said you didn't have a lot of time," you say after a few minutes. Why can't he just _go_ , so you can look for those initials, then get out of here, away from this reminder of your past...

He makes a dismissive gesture. "ah, hell, i probably shoulda gone. but it was just dinner, not a job. if they wanted to make sure i'd be there they shoulda paid me." He grins. "an' i'd have gouged'em for it. woulda called that fee..." He considers this for a moment. "called it a 'you chose a restaurant without monster food AGAIN so i'm stuck here watching you dumbasses eat instead of listening to my new records' fee." You laugh, and he looks encouraged. "that's one advantage of being a freelancer. got a base rate, then i give discounts or pile on the fees as i please."

"Judging by how much this must have cost you," you say, nodding at the cabinet, "I'm guessing there's more fees involved than discounts?"

"lots more," he says with a wicked grin. "see, i work with humans. think you've already guessed the kinda humans i'm talking 'bout." 

"The dangerous, amoral kind?"

"precisely. so for starters i charge more than half my clients the 'you're a complete asshole' fee." 

You imagine Jack being charged such a fee, and what his reaction might be. "That doesn't... offend them?"

"pisses off some of'em, so i tack on the 'can't take a joke' fee. some of them, they laugh and tell me they'd deserve it if i set that fee higher."

You giggle, and he continues "more of them than you might expect get the 'you don't care i'm a monster' discount. but some of'em get the 'you don't like monsters and you're not doing a good job hiding it' penalty. means i double my base rate. then, a few get the 'you can't stand monsters and you can't stand me' penalty. that's tripling it."

"What if they _really_ don't like monsters?"

"well, in that case i might make use of the 'you can barely cope with talking to me like a sentient being' penalty. that's quadrupling the base rate." He pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. "and on one memorable occasion i charged one guy a penalty that i called 'you're on record as saying that the surface should have taken out all six districts, not just one, but no one else in new ebott can help you in the time frame we're talking and we both know it.' that was multiplying my base rate by ten. multiplying something by ten is called decupling, incidentally. but at the time he wasn't really interested in that bit of trivia." 

Your eyes widen. "Uh... can I ask how much he ended up paying you?"

Sans grins. "hell, i don't even remember, though i bet HE does." He shrugs. "i don't charge a lot 'cause i care about the money. i charge a lot so humans value my time. and 'cause it's funny to watch their faces as i read out the fees, come up with a final number and remind'em it's strictly payment up front."

"I can imagine..." Would you be overstepping if you asked what exactly Sans had been paid _that_ much to do? You suspect that the answer would be rather interesting, but if he's not volunteering the story then perhaps it's better not to ask.

Sans returns to going through his new record collection, while you contemplate the cabinet. Your parents had both been music lovers... They met at one of the concerts on the public side of the surface when your father was working at one of the Concourse-based corps. You picture their combined collection going up in lots at auction, the individual records traded and borrowed back and forth, bits of your musical memories stored all over the surface. Maybe Jerren had bought one of your favorite records, listened to it occasionally and wondered if his curse had ever come true... The thought makes you shudder. 

"wound up with some good stuff," Sans says with satisfaction as the record ends. "and some records i'll probably never touch, but oh well. here, pick out something ya wanna listen to."

You select a record that's not from your family's collection -- thank goodness he gave you the choice -- and hand it to him. "classical? sure," he says.

"If you'd prefer something else..."

"nah, 's fine with me." He stands up and switches records, then sits back down on the carpet, focusing on you as if he's noticing you for the first time this evening. 

* _she still seems tense._

* _something happened today?_

* _she must have at least known someone with this kind of setup, maybe it's bringing back memories of better times?_

* _she's pissed i've been ignoring her because i got a new toy?_

* _or... crap. she's got somewhere to be soon and if i fuck her she'll be late?_

He takes his pocket watch from his vest pocket and frowns as he looks at it.

"i'm sorry, i'm forgetting all 'bout our agreement. it's a quarter past seven, you gotta get home don'tcha?" 

"Um... I'm afraid I probably should..."

"tell you what. like i said, tomorrow i'll be here right at four. and believe me, ya won't be playing second fiddle to a bunch of old records then." He winks, and you look down, smiling. "sorry you got all dolled up for nothing. nice to have company, though."

"I'm glad you got this... I was just thinking earlier, it was entirely too quiet around here."

"well, you're free to use it. you've seen something like this before, haven't ya?"

His tone is pleasant, so you decide it's not an accusation, just him confirming his guess from earlier. "Something like that," you answer, shrugging. "Lucky guess?"

He grins. "maybe. mind grabbing me a beer before you go?"

You open up a beer and bring it to him as he inspects the liner notes from one of the blues records. "thanks," he says absently, taking a swig and setting it on the coffee table next to your book.

You retreat to the bathroom and tone down your makeup, then change back into your regular clothes. When you emerge, he looks up from the liner notes, inspecting your metamorphosis.

"So much for keeping up the illusion," you say apologetically as you put on your coat. For some reason, it's embarrassing to show him your drab, everyday appearance. It's not like he hasn't seen it before, but somehow you want him to enjoy looking at you.

He shrugs. "i like seeing your usual getup too. kinda like peeking behind the curtain. ya gonna be fine getting back home? still raining pretty hard out there."

"I'll be fine, it's not too far away." You adjust your cloche hat in the mirror. Maybe you should add a little bow to it, or a flower or something...

* _i'd offer to take her back to her place, but if she doesn't even want me knowing her name, i doubt she wants me to know where she lives._

"well, enjoy the rest of your night."

"You too," you say, your hand on the doorknob. It seems like a rather impersonal ending to the evening. As stressful as it's been... it _was_ rather nice to see a new side of Sans. You go back to him and lean over, resting your hand lightly on his shoulder and kissing the top of his skull. "Have fun with your new toy," you add, your tone playful. 

"sure will," he says with a grin.

As you open your umbrella outside the front door of the apartment building, you realize your book is still on the coffee table. You'd left in a hurry, anxious to escape such an awkward, fraught scene, but you'd meant to start reading it to Sasha tomorrow. You head back up the stairs to the apartment and unlock the door.

The magical soundproofing is demonstrated when you open the door; at the threshold there's silence, but when you step inside you hear the classical record you'd picked out. There's no sign of Sans, although his records are scattered on the carpet in front of the cabinet and his beer is on the coffee table. You pick up your book, then scan the other rooms in the apartment for him. Well, it's his own business where he is, you think, shrugging. Still, it seems strange, as he'd given the impression that he was settled in for the evening.

He could be back any second, but you can't resist. You kneel by the cabinet and check the back for the initials. There they are -- MLC. Matty had hardly been famed for his maturity or good judgment, and when your father discovered the vandalism there'd been no concealing who had done it. You remember his desperate attempts to justify himself with a smile as you run your fingers over the gouges in the wood.

You're just about to leave, your hand on the doorknob, when Sans returns.

"back so soon?" he asks, approaching you.

"Oh -- I forgot my book," you say, turning and showing him the cover. "I was at a good part... Where'd you go?"

"just checking on something," he says with a dismissive gesture. "you better get home, right?"

* _so i can continue getting myself off..._

* _she almost got an eyeful of a rather creative display of magic. luckily i can shortcut out quicker than she can unlock a door._

* _if she knew what i'd been fantasizing about, she might not have been so quick to return for her book._

He seems tense, and he's looking intently at you. Is he annoyed you're interrupting his time with his new toy? "Indeed I should," you answer. "Enjoy your evening."

The lights in his eyes seem to brighten as he answers "i rather think i will." He steps forward and pushes you against the door, one hand on your shoulder and one on the back of your head. He guides your head down, bringing your lips to his mouth, and you tense up as his fingers dig into your shoulder and his ribcage presses into your abdomen. The difference in your heights might seem comical if not for his strength; the top of his head only comes up to your shoulders, but you're quite aware of how easy it would be for him to overpower you. Is he going to ignore the deal and fuck you right now? It's not what you'd agreed on -- 

The scene changes, and you're in the empty foyer three floors down, your skin tingling and your back up against the mailboxes set into the wall. He releases you, taking a step back with a satisfied smile. Just a kiss. You're not sure if you're relieved or disappointed. "there. figured i'd save ya a little time."

"You're better than an elevator," you say, giggling. Oops. You keep saying things that are more honest than complimentary...

But he seems amused. "you saying i _lift_ your spirits? just wait 'til tomorrow. i'll _floor_ ya." He winks and vanishes.

You blink. Wait. Did he just make... elevator puns?

So... Sans likes jokes _and_ horrible puns.

How did you wind up selling yourself to a monster who can turn you on by forcing you against a wall and kissing you, then make a silly reply to a silly comment without missing a beat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted this one earlier than I said I would. Don't expect that to happen often.
> 
> Eight chapters and 50,000 words in... we finally see Sans let down his guard a little. I suppose that might be of interest to some of you?
> 
> The cabinet in this chapter is similar to [this Crosley turntable console player](https://www.amazon.com/Crosley-CR44CD-Turntable-Console-Player/dp/B0006PU71G/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1478125667&sr=8-1&keywords=crosley+cr44cd+turntable+console+player), if you were having trouble visualizing it. I imagine the one in the story as having a more intricately decorated cabinet, though, because Reader's mom was like that.
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta reader [peonylanterns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns)! Here's how great she is: her computer freezes constantly, so she edits APJFM on her dang *phone*. At this point I'd feel lost without her input, so to say I appreciate her putting up with that hassle is an understatement!
> 
> If you've been wondering when that face slapping tag is going to come into play... well, come back for chapter 9. Give that one a couple of weeks, I think.
> 
> kenyaketchup drew the first piece of APJFM fanart, and it's for Chapter 8: [Sans and his 'rather creative use of magic'](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/152756957250/kenyaketchup-i-read-chapter-8-of-this-great). Mildly NSFW -- and entirely hilarious!
> 
> Also, here's a [calendar of APJFM events up to Chapter 8.](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/152732962465/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-8)
> 
> This seems like a good time to mention I've got a tumblr: <http://neroli9.tumblr.com/>. I post status updates here, plus some Sans fanart and so on.


	9. how's that STRIKE ya (explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this chapter is explicit? Let's celebrate with some Cole Porter: ["Let's Misbehave"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JctNtRfHRLU).

The next morning, you amuse Sasha with a detailed description of your evening out in an attempt to get her mind off her illness. You start with telling her about the first dance partner you had, whose mother had been so disappointed not to be able to gawk at the two of you and now firmly believes in your nonexistence. Next, you move on to an imitation of Gracie, agonizing over which month would be best for her wedding and weighing the pros and cons of twenty different kinds of lace. Finally, you play the story of getting pinched and stomping on the wrong guy for laughs; Sasha does laugh, but she also resolves to invent shoes with some sort of razor blades in the heels. Of course, you omit some details about your night, like how Jack had propositioned you and how the evening had ended. You wonder if Sasha will counter with a story of another session with Jerren, but she doesn't mention him, so neither do you.

You cut your visit with her short, heading back out into the rain to run some errands underground. Sans asked you to find him a robe, but can you even _do_ that for someone with his body shape? He's so short and stocky that it's like dressing a barrel. And what color would he like? His clothes might be nice, but they're almost purposely nondescript, with no details that would indicate he's at all interested in style. Blue seems to suit him, because of the color of his magic and because you think it'd look nice against his bleached white bones, so you pick up an expensive, extra-large royal blue robe that you can hem for him... and a ribbon for your hat. 

There's a bookstore right next to the department store, and on impulse, you decide to spend some of your entertainment budget on a book about monsters. After all, what kind of self-respecting monster mistress doesn't even know they can't eat human food? You browse through the books impatiently. You want to get back to the apartment early enough that you can get a better look at your family's old cabinet, but you're being slowed down by a bunch of dry-looking, academic titles that don't look like what you want at all. Ah -- here's "A Guide to the Monsters of New Ebott." You open the book and flip through, seeing lots of illustrations... and maps of all of the districts, with the locations of those precious human-friendly bathrooms clearly labeled. Sold. 

You hurry back from your shopping, arriving at the apartment early enough that you can spend some time with that cabinet. You'd worried it might be upsetting to have such a memento around, but when you get there, seeing it brings back nothing but good memories, and your heart feels so light and happy that you give it a hug. You don't consider yourself to be a superstitious person, but in a way its presence feels like a sign that you're doing the right thing. For years you've been struggling and the cabinet was owned by some creepy collector, but against all odds, both you and it wound up in this little apartment together... Perhaps you'll even be able to show it to Sasha someday.

You sit down to sort through the records. Many of the ones you most hoped would be there are missing, unfortunately, but there's some that you're delighted you'll be able to listen to again. Not right now, you don't want to get all weepy right before Sans arrives. Maybe you'll stay over here again tonight... take a page out of Sans' book and have a little music party of your own. 

It sounded pretty likely that he'll be here today, so you tune the radio to a classical performance, then go ahead and get dressed for him, carefully doing your hair, picking your prettiest dress and putting on the perfume he bought for you. You still have a good half hour by the time you're done, so you first bring out your sewing kit to tack your ribbon on your cloche hat, then relax and start reading your book. It's exciting to be learning more about monsters, and the scene feels almost idyllic -- for all of two minutes.

This book isn't just a guidebook for humans who want to visit the monster districts, you realize... it's also written for people who want to _kill monsters_. You flip through it with growing horror. There's lists of different types of monsters and their attack capabilities... how to prepare yourself for the feeling of having your soul pulled out... charts of magical attack patterns commonly used by different types of monsters... techniques to sneak into the districts and good places to hide... ways to distract your target and escape, if you feel you're getting the worst of the encounter... 

This is _awful_. How could you have brought such a disgusting book into this apartment? And Sans will be here soon! You can't let him associate you with trash like this. You have to hide it, but where? Not in the bedroom, absolutely not in the bedroom. Not in the closet. What if you tuck it in with your spare clothes and he wants to sniff your underwear or something? The idea would amuse you if you weren't panicking. The kitchen, maybe? No, he said he'd bring some monster food. What if he went to put it away and found this horrible book in the pantry? What if he wanted to try to cook something and found it hidden in the oven? Right here under the couch maybe? What if he wanted to move the furniture around for some reason, like he did when he brought in the cabinet?

The bathroom. He's not likely to go in there, because monsters don't have to use the toilet. There's a chance he might want to wash his hands or take a shower, but he'd certainly have no reason to go digging around underneath the sink...

Thirty seconds later, you're tucking the offending book behind a package of toilet paper. Whew. What a stupid, upsetting waste of money _that_ was. When you get home, you'll tear out the maps and see if you can glean anything interesting from it. Despite yourself, you're curious how the author describes the feeling of having your soul pulled out, and you also can't help but wonder about what it might have to say about skeleton monsters. Once you're done... you'll burn the damn thing. 

There's the sound of footsteps from the living room. Sans is here already? He's about ten minutes early. Losing your family killed any religious feeling you might have had, but lately you're starting to wonder if maybe there is a God after all, and you pause to give heartfelt thanks that Sans didn't catch you with a book about killing his fellow monsters. You take a moment to collect yourself and touch up the powder on your face. Nervous sweat running down your forehead isn't such a sexy look on you.

When you emerge from the bathroom, looking as carefree and appealing as you can possibly manage, he's standing by the table, trying on the robe. It fits his frame, but the sleeves and hem are comically long. You stifle a giggle. Laughing at men's jokes is one thing, but laughing at men tends to be dangerous. But Sans turns to you, grinning. "check me out. think there's some kind of dance where they use the sleeves like this, yeah?" He does a little mincing dance step, fluttering the ends of the sleeves by waving his arms from one side to the other with unexpected grace. It's harder to repress your laugh, and it turns into a cough. "it's alright, kid. you can laugh," he says, winking. So you do. So does he.

Kid? That's new.

"this is a great robe," he says. "or will be, with a bit of alteration. i'm a hard guy to shop for, yeah? i'll take it in to my tailor."

"I was going to hem it for you... I just need to mark off where to cut first."

"you don't mind? not in the job description."

"I don't mind," you say, smiling. "It won't take long."

"might as well do it now while i've got it on," he says, holding out his arm. You grab your sewing kit from your purse and lean over to draw a ring around each wrist with chalk.

He looks down, studying you as you work.

* _she knows what she's doing. she makes her own clothes, after all. maybe she's worked as a seamstress before, or did piece work?_

* _if i'm right and she had an upper-class upbringing, she would have never have been expected to learn anything as practical as making clothes. but she's good, she's been doing it a while._

* _has she even bought anything new for herself? i keep seeing her in the same couple of dresses. think all she's done is put a ribbon on her hat... not much of a splurge._

* _she seemed a little bit... flustered, somehow. because i'm early? or maybe there's something else going on in her life..._

* _no, sans. whatever it is, it isn't your business._

* _she didn't ask to get involved with someone who can read faces. and just because we set up this arrangement, it doesn't mean she owes me an explanation of her every emotional state._

"dunno how you figured out what i like," he says as you kneel down to draw a ring around his ankles. "this feels nice against my bones, and the color's great."

You mainly selected it based on the exorbitant price, but there's no need to tell him that. "You like it?" you say, beaming as you glance up at him. "That's wonderful!" He looks down at you and chuckles. "What?" you ask.

"sorry, it's just... you look so sexy, and you're doing this seamstress stuff. kinda funny." He pauses. "don't mean to _needle_ ya, though."

Another pun? You giggle. "What can I say? I've got lots of skills."

"yeah, you're not kidding 'bout that," he says, grinning back.

You finish marking off the hems and stand up. "I'll just take it home with me, and it'll be ready..." Not tomorrow, that's the weekend. "Monday."

"great," he says, grinning. He shrugs it off and hands it to you. 

When you'd arranged Sasha's care, there had been a life-size skeleton model in the doctor's office. You'd glanced over at it so often that the doctor thought it was scaring you; mindful of what he'd thought were your delicate sensibilities, he'd had it removed. Now here you are with a living skeleton, standing naked in front of you with no shame, and you feel your cheeks heating up as you fold the robe and lay it on the table. "c'mon. let's go test out that bed," he says with a wink.

You follow him to the bedroom. "kinda neglected you yesterday, so i'm gonna take my time with ya today," he says. He sits on the edge of the bed and gives you an appraising look. "might be keeping ya a little late."

"Fine with me," you say, sitting next to him and smiling at him. 

"then c'mere," he says, reaching for you. He unbuttons only as many buttons as he needs to pull your dress over your head, messing up your hair in the process. As he tears off your dress, you pray that he doesn't rip it -- you worked hard on it. He gestures dismissively at your slip and underwear. "get that stuff off," he says. "it gets in the way of my magic."

So much for getting all dressed up for him, you think with a wry smile. At least he likes your makeup. 

You kick off your shoes and carefully roll your stockings off your legs. Then you stand up to pull your slip over your head, unhook your bra and slide your underwear down your legs, giving your hips a little shimmy. He watches the process with impatience, tapping his fingers on the mattress.

Entirely naked now, you rejoin him in bed. "that's more like it," he says. "never actually seen you stark naked before... ya always had those stockings on." You lay down on the bed and he sits next to you, the dots of light in his eye sockets scanning your body. "now... lemme just take a good look at ya." He seems relaxed as he starts trailing a finger over your toes, one by one. Is he admiring your painted toenails or does he think it's some weird human affectation? You're curious, but... he's clearly inspecting his new purchase, and now doesn't seem like a good time for questions.

He holds your heel in his hand, examining your foot. You repress giggles as he runs his fingers over the ticklish part of your instep. Next he slides his palm up your leg over your calf muscle, then to the back of your knee. You can't help but laugh, twisting around and managing to say "That spot _really_ tickles!"

"good to know," he answers, giving it a little extra tickle before resting his hand on the front of your knee.

"You going to want to check my reflexes too?"

"do what?"

That might not have been the sexiest thing you could have said, but hey, he seems amused by this sort of human trivia. "When you go to the doctor, they tap on your knee with this little rubber mallet, and if your reflexes are working right your leg swings out."

The idea does, indeed, seem to amuse him. "seriously? huh," he says, glancing up at you and grinning. His gaze drops back to your legs. "but for now..." 

He continues traveling up your legs, running his hand leisurely up your thigh to your hip. He traces the line of your hip bone, then presses down slightly on it. Is he fascinated by the idea of the skeleton within your body? It must be strange to be a skeleton and attracted to skin, muscle and strategically placed fat deposits. 

He moves on to your vulva, and the tip of his finger delicately traces your slit, making you squirm. He runs his fingers through your pubic hair, then places his palm on your mons pubis, his fingers curved over your labia. "god, you're so soft," he says. The possessiveness of the gesture makes your vulva start to throb with desire, and you wish he would slip his fingers inside you, exploring your cunt in the same way he's exploring the outside of you. Instead his hand moves up to your belly, caressing it. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. When he said he'd be taking his time with you, you assumed he meant you'd be getting fucked. Is he just going to inspect you for three hours? 

He leans down to get a better look at your belly button. He traces a ring around the edge of it, then pokes the tip of his finger inside. Again, you can't help laughing and squirming. He grins. "another ticklish spot, huh?"

"There are a lot of them," you admit.

"well. i do like that you're sensitive," he says, winking. He continues his inspection, sliding his hand up your torso and placing it flat on your breastbone. He studies you for a moment, then touches the hollow at your throat and traces the line of your collarbone to your shoulder.

"raise your arms," he says. You comply, stretching out on the bed like a cat, and he runs his fingers over your armpit. He might have been intending to admire the lines of your body, but it makes you double over, giggling. "That's _really_ ticklish, right there," you gasp. 

"i gathered," he says, grinning. "so if i..." He reaches over, tickling your other armpit too. 

You curl up and squeal with laughter. "That's not _fair_ ," you protest, thrashing around on the bed. "I don't even know if _you're_ \--" You reach for his armpits, or at least the area where his arm bones connect to his torso. He grins and, in a single quick movement, gathers your wrists in one hand and pins them against the headboard. Your heart starts to beat fast as his fingers press against your skin. 

He looks down at you, his expression smug. "you'll get your turn another day, sweetheart. right now i'm studying YOU."

"And what have you concluded about me?" you ask, feeling blood rise to your cheeks.

"hmm. well." He traces the line of your arm up to your wrists. He releases your hands from the headboard, but takes one of them and holds it delicately. "so far i've concluded that making that proposal to ya was one of the better ideas i've had." 

You smile as he brings your hand closer to him for inspection, running a finger over your knuckles, then down each individual finger. He taps on your pinky fingernail, then turns your hand around. He bows his head and brings your wrist to his nasal cavity, taking a deep whiff of your perfume. Then he starts to study your palm. "they tell fortunes with these lines here, right?" he asks, tracing the lines on your palm with one finger. "ever get yours told?"

If any part of your history actually does show up in your palms, your misfortunes would scandalize some poor fortune-teller. You shake your head. "I don't believe in that kind of thing."

"i didn't used to either," he says with a shrug. "but i was thinkin' the other day, there might actually be more to it than i thought. i was with some of my human buddies, and i glanced at the hand of one of'em. something made me think, that man's gonna come into some serious cash soon. sure enough, he walked out of that room richer than he'd come in."

"Oh? So... you can read palms?"

"nah. just saw his hand had four aces in it," Sans says with a wink.

You laugh at this, and he smiles with satisfaction as he puts your hand back on the mattress, giving it a pat. Next, he focuses his attention on your neck. When he tries to brush his fingers over it, your shoulders involuntarily rise and you squirm away. "there too?" he asks with mock exasperation.

"There too," you giggle. 

"but the kind of touch probably makes a difference," he muses. "like if i..." He lays his hand firmly over your neck. It doesn't tickle this way, but it's such a dominant move that you swallow, feeling a tight, slick sensation in your vulva as you get turned on. But all he says is "hmm" as he releases you and starts to trace your jawline with one finger. Go back to my _neck_ , you think, but apparently you have no talent for telepathy. 

He leans down, studying your ear as he moves his finger over the curves and whorls of hard cartilage. He takes your earlobe between two fingers and gives it a gentle squeeze, then wiggles it back and forth. You can't help but giggle at this. "don't tell me that tickles too?"

"No, it just feels funny."

"yeah? feels great to me," he answers, grinning. You can think of some other things he could do that might feel great, but he seems bound and determined to carry out this inspection at his own pace. "now..." He leans over you, tracing his finger over your lower lip, then your upper lip. Your lips part slightly as he inspects them. "open your mouth a bit more."

Don't they do this to horses? Your cheeks start heating up as you comply. He touches the tip of his finger to the tip of your tongue, then runs it from your upper left canine tooth to the right one. Thank God you brushed your teeth thoroughly when preparing for this session. Does he feel some attraction to your teeth, the only visible part of your skeleton? Or is it just curiosity?

He taps the tip of his finger against one tooth, then withdraws his hand. He runs his fingers over your cheekbone. "smile for me," he says. You'd smile without being asked if he did that thing with your neck again, but you follow directions. He presses lightly on the apple of your cheek, making a low, appreciative noise. 

He then starts to trace the lines of your nose, and you screw up your face and giggle when he touches the underside of your nose between the nostrils. "shhh," he says, his voice soothing. "just try and relax." You follow his finger with your eyes as it travels up your nose. He presses down on the tip, then on several places up the slope, as if determining where the cartilage ends and the bone starts. 

He traces the line of your eyebrow ridge. "close your eyes," he says quietly. You comply, and his touch is as light as a feather on the skin around your eyes, then right on your eyelids. He brushes his finger over your eyelashes; he must like the sensation, because he does it again. He lays his palm over your forehead like he's checking your temperature, then runs his fingers through your hair. He holds a lock of it in one hand and fans out the ends, running his thumb over them. He lets the hair fall back into place, then pats your shoulder. "there. thanks for indulging me."

"Do I pass inspection?" you ask, only half joking.

"wasn't that," he answers with a grin. "just wanted to get to know my human a little better. i've got a thing for your species, y'know. you probably guessed that?"

"I did..."

"and now i've got one of my own... you have NO idea how horny that makes me." You swallow. He caresses your chin as you look up at him. His touch is light, almost reverent, but his grin is menacing. "see, the thing is, everything 'bout you is gorgeous. and somehow... it makes me want to break you." You shiver, feeling both fear and arousal course through your body as you look up at him. He leans over you and puts his hands on your shoulders. "leave the mark of my bones on that sweet ass of yours. feel ya flinch when i slap your face. bite your neck, right... here..." he says, trailing his fingers over your neck, then pressing down near your collarbone. You swallow as he draws even closer to you. "i'm gonna use you however the fuck i want, then make you beg to get pumped full of my magic. and..." He looks into your eyes searchingly. "oh my god, look at you. the way you're looking at me right now... you're gonna love it, aren't you?" His grin is mocking.

"Yes," you admit, feeling blood rise to your cheeks. You've never been slapped in bed before... You find the idea surprisingly compelling.

He raises an eyebrow, studying you. "little human bitch. you're just as fucked-up as i am, aren't ya?"

"Maybe more..."

He laughs at this. "we'll see about that. but you really do like the idea of getting slapped, dont'cha? don't think i missed how your eyes lit up." He straddles your waist and starts to caress your jawline. "i'll give you what you want. just ask me to do it... nicely."

"Please slap me," you whisper, looking up at him wide-eyed.

"you can do better than that."

"Please slap me, master," you repeat, squirming underneath him.

He pauses, then lightly strikes your cheek. A spike of adrenaline jolts your body, and you flinch, then go limp. He really did it, you think, gasping. It might have been so light that the pain was only momentary, but he really did it. And... the stinging sensation combined with the feeling of abject submission left you incredibly turned on... and wondering just how much harder he might want to hit you. 

He pauses, looking at you with concern. You close your eyes, rubbing your cheek against his hand. When you open your eyes again, his eye sockets are open wide.

"god damn, girl. that really did it for ya, didn't it?"

"Yes," you breathe.

He leans over you, something menacing in his expression, and runs his fingers through the hair above your temple, then gathers it in his hand at the roots, grasping tightly. "then maybe you better fuckin' THANK me."

"Thank you, Sans..."

His magic envelops your body all at once, as if he's unable to hold back. It spreads your labia and stimulates your nipples, making you cry out and squirm. You reach for the crests of his pelvis, holding on tight as his grip tightens on your hair. "aw, fuck. that feels great. give me that little wiggle you do," he orders. The way he's using his magic to touch you, he barely has to ask. You whimper and shimmy underneath him, and you feel his magic responding to your movements. "gonna do it again. you ready?"

You nod, squeezing your eyes closed. 

He takes your chin in his hand, growling "no. i want you to watch."

You open your eyes, focusing on his hand raised over your face. He smiles as he brings it down sharply, striking your cheek again. Hard enough to leave a more lasting sting, this time. You wail and your hands tighten on his bones. His magic moves over your clit, rubbing up and down its length, and you grind your hips down into the bed, aching for his cock. You turn your head, pressing your cheek against his hand. "Thank you," you whisper. You let go of his pelvis and run your hands up and down his leg bones. 

"you amazing little whore," he whispers. He shifts his body back over yours, reaching for your cunt and sliding two fingers inside you. You gasp, squeezing his bones. "i can't believe that slapping you like that gets you so wet."

"You like it too... don't you?" you whisper.

"do i like it. do i like it, she asks," he repeats mockingly. He moves his fingers in and out, and you squirm underneath him, moaning. "i like it so goddamn much that i'm going to slap those pretty cheeks of yours while i'm fucking you. how's that... _strike_ ya?"

* _for fuck's sake, now i'm even making puns in bed?_

* _i really HAVE been in a good mood lately..._

Now he's even making puns in bed? This man is actually a complete goofball, you think fondly. You giggle, smiling at him, and he grins back.

"but not yet. told ya, i'm gonna take my time with you today. 'cause it'd be a goddamn sin to leave this room tonight without making ya come so hard you can barely walk. now. how 'bout another?"

You nod, and he brings his hand to your cheek again, running his fingers over it. You reflexively close your eyes, and you flinch when you feel him move his hand away. But the slap doesn't come, and you feel his magic vanish from all over your body. You open your eyes to find that he's looking at you with concern. "Something wrong?" you ask.

"worried i'm gonna leave too much of a mark on you," he says. "i'm not hitting ya all that hard, but... it's the bones." He looks down at his hand. "not a whole lot of padding, yeah? sorry, i'm still getting used to you, and..." He brushes his fingers over your cheek. "you're so damn delicate..."

You touch your cheek too. "How much of a mark?" you say with alarm. You'd prefer not to have to explain to Sasha why you have bone shaped marks on your cheek. 

"it's very light. it'll be gone soon. but that was just twice, and i was going real easy on you. if i keep going it might be visible tomorrow."

* _i should know, i'm kind of an expert in marking up human bodies..._

"I guess this isn't such a good idea, then..." you say, sighing.

He laughs at this. "aww. i hate to disappoint you. maybe if i..."

He holds up his hand, and his magic surrounds it, as if he's wearing a semi-transparent blue glove. He touches his fingers with his other hand, looking thoughtful. You can't tell what he's doing, but from his face, you can see he's concentrating.

"how about i try again? other cheek. i'm kinda... padding my hand with my magic."

"Can I feel it?"

He puts his hand out, and you touch the cushion of blue magic surrounding his bones cautiously at first, then clasp it between your hands. The magic has a certain give to it, approximating flesh surprisingly well. "Wow," you say, your eyebrows raising. "That's a nice trick..."

"guess you could say it comes in --"

* _fuck._

" _handy_."

* _the hell has gotten into me today?_

Handy... huh. You smile mischievously and start to clap as if you've just witnessed a fantastic performance. 

Sans raises an eyebrow at you. But he gets the joke almost immediately, and he puts his hand on his forehead and laughs. "aw, fuck, don't you start too," he says, but his smile is genuine. 

"Just thought I'd give you a _hand_."

"thank you, thank you," he says, performing as elaborate a bow as he can manage while sitting on the bed. "right. shall we?"

"Why don't you try it somewhere not so visible, first?"

"you just want to get spanked."

"Is that so wrong?" You bat your eyelashes at him, and he chuckles.

"if you insist. we'll do a little experiment."

He rolls you over onto your tummy, caressing your ass. "god. that first time i spanked ya... that fucked up my whole week. 'cause i'd be talking to someone, and they'd start boring me, then all of a sudden i'd be thinking about how this bit here --" He runs his fingers over the particular curve he means, and you squirm. "-- how it felt under my hands, or how pretty your skin looked after i was done with you, or the little yelps you made..." He pats your ass, smiling dreamily. Then his eyes narrow. "then i realize i've completely tuned out the last five minutes of the conversation, and i don't know what the fuck i've just agreed to." You laugh at this, and he glares at you. "it's not funny. thanks to that ass of yours i ended up agreeing to do this crappy little job that i'd never have taken otherwise. the guy was just fucking with me, thought it was hilarious to get me so off guard. goddamn pain in the tailbone. so ya see? that's why i gotta have you to myself. i can't concentrate otherwise."

"I didn't know I was so dangerous..."

"shit, kid. i keep going on about how i own you, but let's be honest, it's the other way around."

Is that one of his jokes or not? Not sure what to say, you settle for giving him a smile and wiggling your butt a bit. "right. let's get started," he says, grinning. "first, no magic..." You cry out and your body tenses up as his hand comes down heavily on your left ass cheek. He hits your ass a hell of a lot harder than he hits your face, and you whimper in pain. Before you've recovered he strikes you a second time, then a third. Your skin smarts and you wail, hiding your face in a pillow. He runs his hand over your ass, and you shiver, your body tense with arousal. "definitely leaves a mark. looks fuckin' great, actually. maybe i oughta try again. in the name of science, of course."

Another slap lands squarely on your ass cheek. You hold onto the pillow, your hips moving underneath his hand, and moan, overcome by sensation and pain. He grunts and spanks you again, then again as you whimper and squirm. "god, i love how you get so into it. i'm not done with you yet, girl." He caresses your ass, and the pressure of his bones over the marks he's left on you makes you both whimper in pain and become even more turned on. You're desperate for him to slide his hand a little further down and start fingering you, but instead he raises his hand and lands another hit. You yelp, helpless and overwhelmed by sensation. He lands two more sharp smacks on you, then feels up your ass. The possessive way he handles your body makes you yearn to please him, to be used by him. "that's nine. how 'bout..." A tenth slap lands with a painful thud on your ass. "ten. nice, even number. now..." 

There's a pause, then he lands a slap on your right ass cheek. It still hurts, but in a different way -- much more like a spank from a human hand, with a sharp, pleasurable sting. "god. feels great for me, either way. count for me this time, sweetheart."

You squeeze your eyes closed, clinging to the pillow. "One..."

He brings his hand down on your ass again, grunting. Your body twitches as a thrill goes all through you, and you whimper "Two." Almost immediately he spanks you again, and you yelp, then gasp "Three."

"looks nice an' red," Sans reports with satisfaction. He runs his hand over your ass. "feels warm, too." 

He lands another smack on your ass. "Four," you whimper, burying your head in the pillow and squirming.

He trails his fingers over your ass. "hmm. didn't quite hear that," he says, feigned casualness in his voice. "maybe we'd better try again." You flinch as he spanks you again. This time you turn your head, careful not to muffle your voice as you repeat -- perhaps a little sullenly -- "Four." He chuckles and immediately brings his hand back down, and you yelp "Five." He caresses your thigh, then delivers another sharp spank. You squirm underneath his hand, overcome by the mingled pain and pleasure. "Six."

"ya still like it this way?"

"Oh yes," you whisper.

"like i need to ask," he answers indulgently, running his hand down your spine. "just look at you. now..." 

He smacks your ass hard, and your body twitches as you moan. You take a deep breath, saying "Seven." Another slap follows, and you quiver, mumbling "Eight" before hiding your face in the pillow. You wiggle your ass, and he spanks it again. "Nine," you say weakly, your ass aching.

He caresses your bottom. "one more, sweetheart." 

You tense up, and he delivers a final spank. You yelp, feeling like your ass must be glowing by now. "Ten."

He runs his hand lightly over your ass. "hmm."

"Well?" you ask, looking up from your pillow.

"makes a big difference. this side doesn't look nearly so bad," he says, laying his palm flat on the right side. "i think it'll be fine, slapping you around a bit. your secret's safe with me."

"Oh, good," you say, wiggling your ass with glee.

His fingers slide down to your labia and slip into your vulva. He whistles as he fingers you, coating his bones with your arousal. "this really IS doin' it for ya." He withdraws his hand, giving your butt a pat. "turn around. i'm gonna take you apart and put you back together, ya desperate little human." 

You roll onto your back and he climbs on top of you. "spread your legs for me, bitch," he orders, resting his weight on top of you as he forms his cock over his hand. You hold on to his rib bones and part your legs for him, looking up at him. His expression is triumphant as he leans over, holding on to your upper arms and gazing back down at you as he gets in position. The head of his cock presses up against your labia then pushes through, forcing your vaginal muscles to give way as he grunts. He pulls out and thrusts into you again, deeper this time, and on the third thrust he sheathes his cock inside you completely, his pelvis hard against your ass. "that's right. take it for me, girl." 

He starts pumping his cock into you, supporting his weight with one arm on the bed while he fondles your breasts. His magic starts to cover your body, spreading over your skin, lifting you slightly off of the bed as it reaches your back and your ass. It tingles where he spanked you, and you gasp. 

"Oh my God, that feels so good," you breathe. He kisses and licks your breasts as his cock fills you up. You feel the pressure of his teeth, and you cry out in real pain as he sinks them into the top of your breast, above the nipple. Your body trembles, and you gasp, squirming and crying out. He growls with satisfaction as you whimper and his fingers dig into your shoulders while he licks the area he bit, then your nipple. You respond by lifting your hips to meet each thrust, letting him deeper and deeper inside you, yielding to him. Your chest throbs.

He holds your wrist down, pinning you on the bed, and you feel his other hand resting lightly on your cheek. "you ready, girl? 'cause i've been going awful fucking easy on you."

You close your eyes, holding on to his pelvis. "Please, Sans..."

He slaps your cheek, harder than before, and you gasp. He's using his magic, but it still stings. You flinch all over, your vaginal muscles involuntarily tensing. He groans, forcing his cock into you as your body recovers. Before you even open your eyes, he's slapped you again. His thrusts are quicker, now, and he slams into you with more intensity every time. You nuzzle at his hand, desperate for him, and he makes a low sound in his throat. "open your eyes, goddamnit." You follow his orders, focusing first on his hand raised to you, then the cruel look on his face. He smiles and brings his hand down sharply, slapping you a third time. That one really hurt, and you yelp. 

"Fuck me, master," you cry out. "I want your monster cock so bad..." He responds to this by increasing the magic on your clit, mimicking a sucking feeling over it as he pounds at your cunt. You squirm helplessly underneath him as he raises his hand to you again, the tension in your body soaring. 

"you greedy little cunt..." he snarls. He slaps you, then caresses your cheek as your body quivers. "you like getting slapped around this much, huh? then beg, girl."

"Please, Sans," you cry, and he brings his hand down sharply on your cheek, sending a shock through your body. You cringe and nuzzle up to his hand, the magic surrounding his bones tingling against your skin.

He raises his hand to you. "again," he orders, his voice harsh.

"Master, _please_ ," you whimper, bracing yourself for more. You flinch as he strikes you so hard your cheek feels like it's burning. A second slap lands in the same spot almost immediately, and you cry out, recoiling from him with your eyes squeezed shut. Before you've recovered, he hits you a third time and you cower underneath him, wailing in helpless, unfocused pain. He makes a low, growling sound, fucking you as your body trembles.

He lifts his hand to you again. "god, you're pathetic."

You cringe away from him, your face smarting. "Oh God, please -- please stop," you beg. The magic around his hand disappears, and he pulls out, looking down at you. "Not _that_ ," you hasten to add. "Just the slapping."

He smiles and caresses your cheek, the bones of his fingers hard against your aching face. "that was the sexiest thing i've ever heard," he growls. "sure, no more slapping... but i'm not done with you yet." He positions his cock against your slit, then thrusts it into you again, making you gasp and squirm underneath him. "now come for me, human." 

The magic on your clit becomes even more intense, and he starts fucking you, flooding your body with sensation. Tension starts to rise in your body again as he focuses on you, slamming his cock into you while he covers you with his magic. Your voice is high and breathy as you cry "Oh God, Sans, I'm gonna come so hard..." He growls in response, fucking you brutally as his magic overwhelms your breasts and clit with stimulation and his fingers trail over your cheek. 

As he touches you, the tension in your body reaches a breaking point and you come, squealing as your vaginal muscles throb around his thrusting cock. You gasp and your body bucks underneath him, the shock of orgasm crashing through every part of you. Blissful sensation carries you away, and you moan and gasp for breath, barely conscious of Sans' touch or his cock fucking your helpless, weak body.

"that's right. good girl," he whispers. He doesn't ease up in the slightest, and your limp, spent body shudders with every thrust as you're overcome by the aftershocks of your orgasm. "fuck, this is great. fucking ya while you're helpless and don't have any fight left in you," he growls, caressing your cheek. Your overstimulated body quivers, and you whimper as you weakly nuzzle his hand. "you're perfect like this. soft... vulnerable... totally mine." He thrusts relentlessly into you, and you cry out each time, your body shaking. 

He lifts one leg over his shoulder, and his bones poke into the back of your knee. He wraps his arm tightly around your thigh and thrusts even deeper into you. As carried away by your orgasm as you are, you barely even register how he positions your exhausted body. "god, you feel so good," he groans. He turns his head, licking your leg as his pelvis slams against you, driving his cock deep into your cunt. He sinks his teeth into the side of your calf, grunting with satisfaction as you scream and tense up. Your flesh throbs where he bit you, and tears come to your eyes, pain mingling with the the paralyzing pleasure of your orgasm. Your senses blurred and your muscles weak, you can only whimper pathetically as he uses your body like a sex toy. 

He runs his tongue over the area he bit, growling with satisfaction, then turns back to you, starting to fuck you with such intensity that your arms, which lie limply at your sides, slap against the mattress with each thrust. "now take my cum, human," he orders in a guttural voice. "this is what... you're... FOR." He grunts and makes one final thrust, his hands digging into your flesh as he pulls your hips against his pelvis and forces his cum deep inside you.

Sans slumps down on top of you, making a rough, growling noise, and the pressure in your cunt vanishes, as does the magic all around you. His hot, slick cum remains. He slides off, breathing heavily as his bones rattle, and lays on his side with his eyes closed. You roll on your side, too, looking at him. He puts an arm around you and rests his head against your chest. 

* _her heart's going like crazy. god, it's cute._

You lay your hand on his ribcage, and the two of you remain still for what feels like some time. Well, _damn_ , you think, smiling with satisfaction as you start to recover from the dazed bliss of orgasm. That was _intense_. You've never felt so submissive in your life... or so physically satisfied. Your cheeks and ass feel warm, and the bite marks on your breast and thigh still throb slightly. Dang, the bites really _hurt_. His cum trickles out of your cunt, which aches enough to give you that pleasurable feeling of having been well fucked. Your body feels light and your legs, in particular, are rather wobbly. And now he's cuddling you, you realize, and your cheeks start to feel hot. It isn't exactly comfortable -- he is, after all, a bunch of bones held together by magic -- but it's gratifying, somehow.

"shit, girl," he mumbles. "you really..." His voice trails off again, and you run your hand over his skull. You can't help but feel smug, knowing that just as Sans had a hell of an effect on you, you've dazzled him in the same way. His bones have mostly stopped moving by now, but every so often he twitches.

If temporarily escaping the stresses of his complicated life is what he's after, then he certainly just got everything he paid for and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were you wondering when that face slapping tag was going to become relevant? Well. Here you go. When I posted the first chapter of APJFM, I worried that it would get too intense for most people to enjoy. I have since read enough fanfiction that I realize I was being naive. Still, face slapping isn't a kink I come across very often, and I can imagine it being hard to understand that something perceived as _that_ degrading and hurtful can be done in a consensual and fun way. So I guess what I'm trying to say is... if I lose you here, thank you for having read this far!
> 
> Chapter 10 is essentially "Chapter 9 Part 2," so I will try to get it up within two weeks... perhaps even on the early side. This time, there will be aftercare. 
> 
> Incidentally, Reader's musing about how Sans might be attracted to her teeth was inspired by a [Ray Bradbury story, Skeleton](https://talesofmytery.blogspot.com/2013/06/ray-bradbury-skeleton.html). In it, the protagonist develops a phobia of his own skeleton, and is horrified to realize that his teeth are a part of it that are always visible. I hadn't read it for many years and found it online; for those of us who have rather the opposite of a skeleton phobia, it may be an interesting (albeit creepy) read.
> 
> yanderebunny303 drew [beautiful fanart for APJFM](http://yanderebunny303.deviantart.com/art/A-Puzzle-just-for-Me-by-Neroli9-fanart-645644117)! It's from Chapter 7, and the dress is an interpretation of what Reader wears to go out. I love picturing her wearing it while she dances. And if you missed it, kenyaketchup drew a possible version of [Sans' "creative display of magic" (NSFW, at least mildly so)](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/152756957250/kenyaketchup-i-read-chapter-8-of-this-great) which, weeks later, still makes me laugh. Fanart of this story just thrills me, so if you have the slightest inclination to draw any, I heartily encourage you to do so!
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns)! If this chapter got you all worked up, you should thank her too. She is the one who's like "it'd be nice to have more emphasis on how the spanking feels here" and I'm like "ooh yes I can certainly provide that."
> 
> Here's a [calendar current to chapter 9.](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/153516469065/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-9)
> 
> For status updates and the occasional bit of fanart, follow me on tumblr: [neroli9.tumblr.com](neroli9.tumblr.com)


	10. a little dangerous herself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my imagination, the opera Reader is listening to later on in the chapter is Carmen. [Here's the overture](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cyYgmYqZds) which she's so fond of.

You nearly drift off to sleep, your body exhausted by ecstasy. For Sans' part, he seems to have shut down entirely. Every so often you pull yourself back to reality, conscious of your body against Sans' bones, the sensation of lightness and weakness pervading your muscles, the sheer bliss that this evening's session brought the two of you.

Eventually Sans sits up, propping himself against the pillows. He stretches, mumbling "fuck. that was incredible." He pats his lap. "c'mere, kid." You put your head down on his legs, shifting around as you try to find a more comfortable position which probably doesn't exist. His leg bones are hard against your ear, then against your temple. But even if you feel uncomfortable, his expression is blissful. He puts one arm over your shoulders and strokes your hair like he's petting you. "you blow my mind. thank you."

"Thank you," you say, stretching out your legs and curling your toes. "God. I've never been fucked like that before."

"never had someone slap you in bed before?"

"No, never..."

"but... it really worked for you, yeah?"

You just close your eyes and snuggle up to him, making a contented noise, and he chuckles. "well. i've never slapped anyone in bed, either. never done a fraction of the shit i want to try..." 

"I'm glad you tried it with me," you purr, and he pats your shoulder. 

"was i hurting ya too much, when you said to stop?" he asks hesitantly.

"It wasn't that exactly," you answer. "I was overwhelmed. Don't get me wrong, I loved it, I just... I needed to catch my breath."

"sure, i getcha. first time doing something like that, it's bound to be intense."

You open your eyes, looking up at him. "What did you like about it?"

"hm. hard to say." There's silence for a minute, and you wonder if perhaps he might have thought this an overly familiar question from his human. But he finally answers "maybe i just like feeling that powerful. playing with ya, enjoying your reactions. when i'm fucking you and i slap you, you tense up then go limp, and it feels amazing. i feel it with my cock, my magic, my whole body. and all i want is to do it again."

"So... maybe it's kind of a physical thing for you, and a mental thing for me?"

He shrugs. "guess there's a mental component to it for me too." He studies you, the dots of light in his eye sockets focused on your face. "i like seeing you so pathetic. and i get off on feeling like i own ya. you might have noticed that." You laugh, and he pats your shoulder. "so it's not exactly the pain that gets you off? whaddya like about it?"

You consider this. "It's... complicated."

He nods. "all of this shit we're playing with is complicated. it's just that, you do this little... nuzzle move sometimes, right after i slap you. which, it's not what i'd expect. why?"

"I think because I feel... shocked." You pause, considering your response, then continue "Because I know I'm at your mercy, and you want to hurt me. It turns me on and it scares me at the same time."

"but you let me do it anyway."

"Sure. I like feeling like I belong to someone so completely that they can do whatever they want to me. I like getting a reaction that strong out of you, too. And... I also like how powerless it makes me feel. It's something I can't ever do to you. I mean, you don't want _me_ to hit you, do you?" 

He chuckles. "not the way i'm wired, sweetheart."

* _my life would probably be a lot less complicated if i WAS a masochist. or rather, shorter._

* _one tiny hit with just enough malicious intent behind it, and some domme would be cleaning my dust off her shiny leather boots, daydreaming about how she'd spend the bounty the vice squad's put on my head._

"Then... part of me can't believe that I'm letting someone hurt me. I want you to comfort me, too, to reassure me you won't take it too far... I wouldn't want to do it if I thought you meant to actually hurt me. But at the same time, I like to know that you could."

"interesting."

"And... I feel like you're making yourself vulnerable too, even though you're the one doing the slapping."

He raises his eyebrows. "how's that work?"

"You wouldn't do it if I didn't want you to. Would you?"

"no."

"So to be able to try it, you had to be honest with me about wanting to hurt me. And for me not to run out of the room screaming, I had to trust you enough to believe that you didn't want to _hurt_ me." 

This makes him grin. "well. glad ya didn't do THAT."

You grin, too. "Yeah. Me too." You pause for a moment. "You're... dangerous, aren't you?" you ask, your voice quiet.

His expression is awkward, but he only answers "yeah."

"But when you wanted to slap me, you shared that desire with me, let me decide if it was something I wanted to try and protected me while you were doing it. Does that make sense?"

He takes a deep breath.

* _she's a little dangerous herself._

"makes sense. yeah."

"Like I said... complicated."

He falls silent, resting his hand on your head.

* _she's right. in a way, i did make myself vulnerable to her._

* _orgasms temporarily interfere with my senses and my control over my magic and body, which means i make myself physically vulnerable to every dame i fuck. hell, that's part of the thrill._

* _but emotional vulnerability..._

* _rather wish she hadn't pointed that out._

He looks thoughtful as he traces the bite mark on your breast with one finger. You can't help but wince a bit, and he looks down with concern. "did i go too hard, biting ya?"

You shake your head. "It's fine," you say, smiling.

* _is it? she might like this kind of shit too, but she also has a vested interest in keeping me happy._

* _i honestly can't tell which it is right now._

He frowns, but just says "and how 'bout..." He inspects your face, his fingers barely brushing against your skin. "your cheek's a little red, right here. but you'll look fine soon. your ass might be a different story..." He cranes his neck, looking at you, and winces. "i get so into it..."

"For science, right?"

* _because i'd fantasized about imposing my will on a human girl, making her cringe under my hand, using her body just as i pleased._

"of course." 

* _and now i've done it, i feel satisfied, but also..._

* _unsettled, somehow?_

He eyes you, frowning. "you're the one with skin. anything you can do to make it feel better?"

"Some lotion might be nice..." 

You move to get up, and he holds your shoulder down lightly. "nah, you relax. i'll get it." He hops down from the bed, and you lean back on the pillows, your heart starting to beat faster. He wouldn't check underneath the sink for the lotion, would he? Not when all the bottles are right there...

"Do you even know what to look for?" you call.

"no," he calls back. "it's one of these bottles, yeah?"

"White bottle on the counter. One of the bigger ones."

He returns with the correct bottle. "this it?"

Bullet dodged. "Yeah," you say reaching for it. 

* _she looks so relieved..._

* _did i hurt her THAT badly?_

He shakes his head. "let me put it on. i'm the one that did this to ya." He makes a motion with his finger indicating for you to turn around, and you do, laying with your belly on the bed, resting your head on the pillow. 

He squeezes some lotion onto your butt, and you shudder at the sudden shock of cold lotion on your skin. You laugh when you realize that he's still squeezing it out. "Stop! That's way too much!"

"how'm i supposed to know?" he grumbles. "never used this stuff before." He starts rubbing it in circles over your skin. "feels good, though. kinda silky."

"That really helps," you say, relaxing. "It's going to take forever to rub it all in, though..." Of course, you don't really mind _that_ , you think to yourself with a rather smug smile.

"where the hell does it even go?"

"It just sort of sinks into my skin."

"that's bizarre."

You laugh. "You'll get used to it."

"i like the sound of that."

He continues to rub the lotion on you, the bones of his hands hard against your butt. You close your eyes, thinking of all that you just did. One thing he said sticks out in your mind... that although he fantasized about owning you, in reality it was the other way around.

Do you really own this man? And if that wasn't one of his jokes... what kind of bargain have you made?

Sans traces an 'S' into the layer of lotion on your ass, then hastily erases it and continues massaging you.

* _so this is my human. at least until the reset hits._

* _i'm curious about her. but i'm not sure how to start that conversation with a call girl who doesn't even want me to know her real name._

* _the hell do we have in common besides what we just did?_

* _she's intriguing. she's smart, but more than that... educated. there was a certain logic to how she talked, but she also works on intuition. open-minded -- or desperate -- enough to work for muffet._

* _guarded and pragmatic, but there's a different side to her too. get her in bed, get her relaxed, then she's sweet and playful._

* _and of course, she's totally transparent._

* _her education, bearing and mannerisms, plus her familiarity with surface tech like that record player, all that has me convinced she's from an upper-class underground family._

* _for someone with that background to have turned to prostitution at all indicates she's fallen on fucking hard times for sure. and then for a woman raised among the new ebott upper classes to have chosen monsters instead of humans... that's even more improbable._

* _she clearly had reservations about entering this arrangement with me, and i think it was because of my work, not because i'm a monster. i probably come off as sketchy as hell. still, she trusts me enough to let me do this kind of shit to her. i'm not even all that sure why._

* _guess it's safe to ask about what she does with the time she spends here._

"so. you're ok, being here by yourself? not too lonely?"

"It's not lonely at all," you say. "I like having the time to read."

"what kinda books do you like?"

"Just whatever catches my eye at the library."

* _still not thinking like a woman who makes obscene amounts of money every month._

He looks questioningly at you, but doesn't say anything. Did that sound like you're dodging the question? It's just that you wonder if it sounds too forward to mention that you were curious about monsters. Forward? A half hour ago this guy was slapping your face as he fucked you.

"I thought I'd learn a little more about monsters," you say, and he looks surprised. 

* _would have thought she'd had enough of monsters._

"I mean, I didn't know much about them... I know a little more now, and I did meet one --" You stop short, before saying 'when I first moved underground.' "-- a long time ago." He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't interrupt. "Now I realize there's still a lot I don't know. I mean, I didn't even know you can't eat human food. But the book I found was no good at all."

"what was wrong with it?"

Well, everything. But you hardly want to go into what the book was actually about. 

"Uh, it was like... the author hadn't ever talked to a monster. He treated them like some sort of alien species. That wasn't my experience with them at all, though. Even the ones that didn't seem to be able to talk, I still kinda understood them."

"'cause you speak the universal language of sexy wiggling," he says, and you giggle, shimmying your ass under his hand.

"That's true enough. But still... I dunno. It just wasn't very useful."

* _she's got that flustered air again. so that's what that was about?_

He chuckles. "sorry ya struck out. i've read a lot of books about monsters by humans, and i've never been impressed. they're either too dry, too condescending or too concerned with the best way to dust us." You swallow as he continues "if y'ask me, the best way to learn about monsters is from monsters. we do tend to stick close to our own kind, after all."

"You don't," you point out.

* _yeah, and there's some good reasons for that..._

You think his expression looks troubled for a split second, but he only says "eh, well. i'm an odd duck." He starts to smooth some of the excess lotion on your back, and you close your eyes, sighing contentedly. "so, you like movies?"

"I love them!" You smile. "I'm going to see The Perils of Paola tomorrow. It's the third in a series and it just came out. We must have seen the first two ten times each, and --" You stop short. "I'm really looking forward to this one, too."

* _she doesn't want to talk about this 'we.' a boyfriend she's hiding from me?_

* _no, she'd act more guilty. and... i'm pretty sure she has too much integrity to do that, anyway._

* _an ex, maybe?_

"what's it about?"

"The first two were about how Paola wound up in compromising situations with handsome men while wearing beautiful dresses. I don't think they'll be messing with the formula." You had rationalized taking Sasha to go see them by deciding they were good for her moral education; she'd enthusiastically agreed. Later, she'd started saying that when _she_ started to have torrid love affairs, she'd be a _lot_ smarter about it than Paola. You concluded that you may have made some mistakes in the substitute mother department.

* _would a boyfriend want to see that shit twenty times?_

* _does she have an ex-girlfriend?_

* _that's a distracting thought._

"so, a romance?"

"Well, she never did end up with anyone exactly. It's more like... you're constantly worried that her reputation will be ruined. So call it a thriller for women."

"ya gonna go with a friend?"

"Just me, I think," you say, trying to sound cheerful. 

* _she's trying to hide her reaction from me. and she's... sad._

* _what am i stumbling on? she and this person had a fight? something happened to them? die of whitepox maybe?_

"well. i hope it's got all the pretty dresses you want. speaking of which, you gone on a spending spree yet?"

"No, not yet," After all, most of your money went straight to the surface for Sasha's care. You've saved just enough for your expenses for the rest of the month and the occasional treat, but there's no money for a spending spree.

"whatcha waiting for?" His voice is light.

"I've got everything I need," you say. Your voice is light, too.

* _sure. how many human girls get into this line of work for fun?_

"i'da thought you'd at least want to buy something nice for yourself. some fancy dresses, like in your movie."

"I don't even know where I'd wear them," you say, shrugging. "Honestly, the kind of money I'm making from this, it feels unreal. I haven't really adjusted to it yet." Which is entirely the truth.

* _there's some mystery here. is she an addict? that'd surprise me, i don't see any of the usual tells. in debt? into gambling? forced to give it all to family or some man? she got mugged and she's too embarrassed to tell me? or just so cautious that she's saving it all?_

* _with how the whitepox epidemic has been ravaging the city, and given how she's new to prostitution, it could be she's paying for someone's care. a family member, maybe, or someone she's close to. her movie buddy?_

* _it's a reasonable theory, except i'm paying her over and above what she'd need for treatment even at ebott general..._

He's quiet for a moment, and you say, "You know, I'm surprised you want to make this kind of small talk."

"why's that?"

"Because the first time we met you wanted me to go away."

He grumbles. "aw, that's completely unfair. i wanted you to stay. you're the one that insisted on listening to me. look." You open your eyes, and he's looking at you, gesturing with a hand that's still covered with lotion. "there's a good reason i gave you those instructions. i don't like, uh..."

* _inflicting myself on someone worse than i've already done._

He pauses and considers his words. "i don't like forcing some poor gal to feel like she's gotta stick around an' humor me when she's already held up her half of the bargain. always figured it was better if we skipped the small talk and just got on with our lives." He starts rubbing lotion on you again. "you probably had to put up with that, didn't ya?"

You shrug, your shoulder blade moving under his hand. "I didn't really mind. Muffet told me that some clients would want me to go, and some would want to chat. I figured it was just part of the job. But I did get pretty tired of answering personal questions about humans..."

This makes him laugh. "lemme guess the top three... what d'ya need a toilet for? how's it feel to be sick? do humans really have to grow their babies for nine damn months?"

You laugh, too. "Yes! Yes, I heard all of those and worse."

"worse?"

"I actually got into an argument with someone who was convinced that humans laid eggs. I just couldn't get him to understand the difference between human egg cells and... you know, _eggs_." 

Sans rolls the spots of light in his eye sockets. "yeah, i can believe it. it all sounds tedious as hell." He gives your shoulder a pat. "well, ya just gotta deal with me now."

"Like I'm not going to enjoy dealing with you," you purr, wiggling your ass.

He chuckles. "you really did like that, didn't you? you just wait, sweetheart."

Sans falls silent as he massages the lotion onto your shoulders. After a moment you say "Uh... I'm glad that's all it was. I thought you might not think much of call girls."

"nah, that's a human hangup. never quite figured out why the men of your species insist on putting down the same gals they're desperate to bang. they're just doing a job, same as anyone else." He peers at you. "lemme do your face, too."

"I use a different lotion for my face."

He groans. "ya kidding? how many different bottles of goop does one little human need?"

"You can't argue with the results," you say, and he grins.

"that i can't, kid. what does this stuff look like?"

"Little blue bottle," you say. You wiggle your very well moisturized bottom, feeling deeply content. You hear him washing his hands, then poking through your toiletries. He soon returns with the face lotion bottle, and you sit up. "Just use a little. It's expensive," you warn him.

"so that's why ya look like a million bucks?" he answers with a grin, and you smile, feeling embarrassed. He squeezes out a much more moderate amount, applying it to your jaw and cheek with a gentle touch. He's looking intensely at you, and the intimacy of the gesture is embarrassing. 

You close your eyes, letting him smooth it on your cheek. "Why'd you want me to stay?"

* _i wondered that myself, after she'd gone._

* _i decided... it was because i understood what kind of person she was, and i could tell she'd genuinely enjoyed sleeping with me. didn't think she'd resent it if i dragged things out a little longer._

* _she left anyway, true. i chalked that up to being cautious... or maybe a little scared of me, still. but i thought caution was more likely._

* _i was sure of it when i met her in the park the next week. although she attempted to maintain a casual attitude, her body language betrayed her physical attraction to me. it was damn near unbearable to be around._

* _what she doesn't understand is that i can read her like a book. about as easily as she read that book which she didn't want to tell me was all about how to dust monsters._

* _she's clearly been trained in upper-class new ebott expectations and manners for women. she squelches negative emotions, mutes her true feelings in favor of politeness. but she doesn't have the sophistication to fool someone who is really looking for the tells._

* _to me, her emotions and thoughts show up clearly on her face. and reserved as she might be, she has too much of an impulsive, honest streak to be truly calculating._

* _something about her strikes me as unusual, which in most cases would be a warning sign. but i've had experience with humans who are trying to manipulate me, get information out of me or encourage me to let down my guard in a way they consider subtle. in a way, she does want something out of me, in that she's curious about me and she wants me to feel comfortable with her._

* _compared to how it feels when a gal working for one of the human gangs is trying to butter me up, being with her is refreshing._

* _and although she's hardly volunteering information about her past i think subconsciously she wants me to know there's more to her. i must admit i'm intrigued._

* _could be she's actually the best liar i've ever met, running the longest damn con on me anyone's ever tried. she could have heard somehow about my deal with muffet, used it to throw herself in my path, faked an intriguing background and an enthusiasm for getting slapped, fucked monsters for a week so as not to blow her cover._

* _i think the odds of that are miniscule._

* _of course, i can't discount the possibility that my attraction to her is clouding my judgment. being honest with myself, that's more of a certainty than a possibility. but even taking that factor into account, i'm still positive i'm reading her right._

* _and the only thing i can really trust is my own mind._

He ponders this for a minute. The longer you have to wait for his answer, the more curious you feel. Is there something about you that struck him as particularly trustworthy or exceptional? Did he have some sense of déjà vu when he saw you? Perhaps... he fell in love with you at first sight? Now you're just flattering yourself, but it _does_ happen...

"eh, i just had a good feeling about you," he answers with a shrug.

Well, _that_ was underwhelming.

"there... you'll be fine by tomorrow. the side i used my magic on doesn't even look all that bad now," he says, patting your cheek. 

"Wonderful," you say, smiling.

"which is good, because it means next time i don't have to go so easy on ya." With your eyes closed, you wonder what his face looks like as you say that. His hand remains on your cheek. "i've gotta look out for you, if i'm gonna treat you like that." You open your eyes, and he's studying you. 

* _she's right._

* _i got just what i wanted. but the real price i paid was making myself just as vulnerable to her as she did to me._

* _that feels fucking weird._

He slides off the bed, stretching. "well. i probably oughta get going. it'll be a long night." He pulls on his pants and shirt, buttoning it up quickly. Somehow you like watching his thin, bony fingers working with such dexterity.

"Oh... Be careful..."

* _did i just say that so she'd look at me like that?_

* _and here i am thinking of HER as transparent._

"nah, nothing dangerous tonight. just a couple shortcuts and talking with some people. not all that excited about the idea," he says, flashing you a grin as he loops his tie under his collar. You smile back, admiring the skill with which he ties his tie. "just gotta get a couple of things. i'll come give ya a kiss before i go, though." 

You giggle. "Okay."

* _lots of gals don't even kiss their clients, but she's willing to indulge me. pretty presumptuous of me to suggest it in the first place._

* _i'm treating her like this isn't based on money, and she's letting me._

He pulls on his vest and leaves the room, then returns a few minutes later wearing his hat and coat. He holds your chin in his hand and tilts your head up, pressing his mouth against your lips quickly. "'night, kid. sleep well." He takes a step backward, looking at you.

* _what a fucking night._

He vanishes.

You flop back onto the bed, sprawling out and stretching. That was a _hell_ of an evening. Sans slapped you... rubbed lotion on you... and kissed you goodnight. The last two times he had sex with you, you found yourself feeling used and lonely afterward, and you had been steeling yourself for months of the same. But this time not only was the sex hot as hell, but what came afterwards was downright fun. He was willing to make small talk with you, fuss over you, listen to your thoughts...

Undoubtedly he was doing it for his emotional gratification, not yours, but feeling pleasant and satisfied after a session beats the hell out of feeling used and lonely. If there are going to be times like this, too, then you think the times where you're just sucking him off as quickly as possible between jobs should be less demoralizing.

It's just half past seven... a good time to start your personal music party. You put on your clover and bunny patterned pajamas, resolving to bring over your robe soon, then go over to the cabinet. A new jazz album and an opera have been added to the collection of records. Oh! The opera must be for you, you think, beaming. Who knows what Sans would think if he knew it had been yours in the past? He might just recreate your collection without knowing he's doing it.

You start playing the record, sitting rather gingerly on the couch and closing your eyes as the overture fills the room. Oh, this is perfect... No matter how often you listened to this record, the opening always thrilled you. And right now, even though the familiar music is making you cry, you have the strangest sensation of being... lucky as hell. Now _that_ is not a feeling you're used to. Since establishing your life underground, you've had to work for the happy, relaxed times that lightened up the daily grind of your life. You budgeted carefully for special treats, pretty new fabric, your evenings out dancing and your visits to the movie theater with Sasha, and the promise of these things was what kept you at your dreary job and that tedious piecework at nights. But here you are, riding a wave of unearned good luck. For no reason other than your skill in bed and that Sans had some sort of 'good feeling' about you, your sister's taken care of and you're in a lovely apartment listening to fantastic music, feeling physically satisfied, content and optimistic. You only realized what a charmed life you once led once it had been taken away; this time around, you intend to appreciate your unusual situation whole-heartedly from the start.

Carried away by your enjoyment of the music, it doesn't occur to you until a few songs in that that after all that sex, you're ravenous. You fix a nice large sandwich, then some tea and rather a lot of cookies. While you eat, you flip through your movie magazine, returning to the crossword in the back. Oh? The words you couldn't figure out are filled in. Sans likes crosswords? The subscription card is gone, too. Did he send it in for you? You'll have to start watching the mail.

You don't have much else to do tonight... you're not going to spoil your lovely evening by reading the book that's still hidden underneath the sink. Thank goodness he didn't find it! That would have put a damper on such a nice session for sure.

You might as well work on Sans' robe now. You curl up on the couch and start sewing, trimming the excess material and pinning the hem in place, then stitching neat, small stitches as you enjoy the music. The leftover fabric is so plush and high-quality that you decide to cut it into squares, to hem later and use as washcloths. You admire your handiwork, then fold the robe up and place it next to the notebook. 

You write:

\- I was delighted to find that new opera record! I was so happy to listen to it tonight, thank you. I finished your robe, I hope that you like it. 

\- I had a fantastic time tonight, Sans. Thank you for everything! 

Instead of putting the notebook back down next to the robe, you turn back to the beginning. It's silly to be re-reading through messages that are just a few days old, you think as you do it anyway. After the evening you had with Sans, even his handwriting seems... well, kind of cute. Four days of messages is a quick read, and you flip through the empty pages until you reach the end. 

You surprise yourself by picking up the pen and drawing a scroll in the corner. It's simple at first, then gets gradually more elaborate as you add extra flourishes and tuck a few flowers in among the curls. Somehow, it feels so relaxing to just doodle like this. With your mind clear and your heart unusually content, perhaps you could even...

You loop the curtain to the side and start sketching the view out the window. Drawing something always forces you to look at it differently, and you take in the decorative detail around the windows of the apartment building across the street, the kid looking morosely out the window at the rain, the downtown skyline in the distance. The skyscrapers reach nearly to the thick clouds that block the stars Sasha sees at night. A couple hurries past the streetlight, brightly colored umbrellas bobbing along the sidewalk, and a kid on a bike zips through a puddle near the curb, splashing them. You capture the scene in your sketch, smiling as you draw.

That sketch finished, you continue drawing, trying your hand at drawing faces by sketching out Paola. Yep, you're still good at people! Satisfied with yourself, you give her the fanciest wedding dress you can come up with, covered with enough lace to make Gracie envious. Then you try a scene from the opera you're listening to, with the heroine spurning her former lover. A flowering vine travels up the length of the page, and a series of scrolls borders the top and bottom. 

You smile as you draw a caricature of Sans' rounded, grinning face. He's not hard to draw... all circles and teeth. Then you add the rest of his body, with the sleeves of the too-long robe hanging off his arms and the hem pooled on the floor. Finally, you summon up an image of Sasha, and sketch her sleeping face in a corner of the paper. That covers the page with doodles, and you regard it with satisfaction. It's been years since you've drawn like that, and it's a relief to find that after grief and stress stole your creative spirit for years, you're still pretty damn good. Will Sans notice the doodles? It's not like you drew them for him to admire, but... you wouldn't mind him getting a glimpse of one of your non-sexual talents.

When your opera ends, you take a shower and fall into bed. Before long, you feel Sans' magic shimmer inside you, taking the form of a warm glow in your belly. Gently, this time, more like he's reminding you of the fun you had than trying to turn you on. After the night you had with him you don't really feel like trying to coax another orgasm out of your body, so you just enjoy the sensation as you drift off to sleep.

\-------------

Sans doesn't wake you up when he teleports in later that night.

* _she spent the night here again... she looks so content. guess i banged her so hard she didn't even want to get dressed and go home?_

He unfolds the robe, slipping it on over his clothes, and studies the neatly hemmed sleeves.

* _aw, she finished it. fits perfectly. and i'm guessing she left a note for me..._

He picks up the notebook and flips to the last entry.

* _does she really think it was fantastic or is she appealing to my ego?_

* _no, that's just my insecurity talking... i don't think she could fake the responses she had._

* _the back page's been folded. hello, what's this?_

His eyes widen as he studies the sketches in the back of the notebook.

* _oh man. this is cute as hell. that's me!_

* _like the way she made my eyes look. almost... friendly._

* _that might be the view out the window, maybe? and that's that actress from the magazine... dunno about the scene... maybe from some movie or the record i got her, or she just made it up..._

* _some sleeping kid... looks similar, supposed to be her? could be a sister or a cousin._

* _she's got talent._

He closes the notebook and takes off the robe, folding it up and putting it back on the table.

* _so if i'm right, she was flustered earlier because she'd read a book about killing monsters. wonder if it's here?_

* _she came out of the bathroom a little while after i got here, and she looked nervous both times i went in there. let's see..._

A short scan of the bathroom later, he's located the book. He flips through it, grimacing.

* _well, there we have it._

* _pretty clear what happened. she wanted to know more about monsters, so she picked this book up without looking at it too closely. got here, started reading, panicked when she realized what she'd done. poor kid, she must have been shocked._

* _ironically, this helps put my mind at ease somewhat. i have to be conscious of the possibility that she has some agenda, and my infatuation with her is preventing me from picking up on the usual danger signals._

* _but if she really WAS waiting for the right moment to kill me, she'd have hardly made a mistake like this._

* _rather sweet that she made the effort to learn about us, actually, even if it didn't turn out like she'd intended._

* _this book pisses me off. i'd love to show the fucker who wrote it a REAL fight. but whoever he is, he hid his tracks so well that even i haven't been able to find him._

* _which points, as so many things in my fucked-up life do, to the involvement of the anomaly. what the author wrote about skeleton monsters strengthens the theory. twisted son-of-a-bitch._

* _i've spent hours studying this book, looking for more clues to the anomaly's identity. but, like usual..._

* _i've failed._

* _well. i'll let her believe her secret is safe. there's no reason to trouble the girl._

He tucks the book back in its hiding place, then goes back to the doorframe between the living room and bedroom. He leans against the doorframe, looking at you.

* _i've got to stop doing this. i don't even have an excuse this time... and i knew damn well she might be here._

* _i said i wanted her to think of it as her space, and what gal wants some creepy monster watching her sleep? she likes me well enough now, i'd like to keep it that way._

* _just... she looks so peaceful._

* _sure would be nice to slip right in bed next to her... spend the night with a nice warm human girl in my arms..._

* _then she wakes up in the morning and i scare the hell out of her?_

* _yeah. let's not do that._

* _right. back to my own bed. maybe i'll even dig a blanket out of a box of dirty laundry. how's that for comfort?_

But he continues looking at you for a few minutes, his expression troubled, before vanishing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between this chapter and the last one... this was really quite an evening, wasn't it? Hot sex, much-needed aftercare... and a resolution to the problem of the book. (Although yes, I'm still making you wait to find out what it says about skeleton monsters. I know, I'm cruel.) This is also the first time we get a really good look at how Sans thinks, which I hope you'll find interesting.
> 
> As always, thanks to [peonylanterns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for reading, offering suggestions, then reading again! If you like the little details like Sans picturing his death at the hands of a pro domme, well, thank her for inspiring me to add a lot of them.
> 
> Chapter 11 might take a little longer -- two to three weeks, perhaps. How well _does_ Sans deal with feeling vulnerable? Find out next time... 
> 
> Visit my tumblr for status updates: [neroli9.tumblr.com](neroli9.tumblr.com). I also recently posted a ["FanFic Ask Game"](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/153613832320/fanfic-ask-game) and have enjoyed writing out some answers. So if you'd like to peek into the future to see Sans and Reader talking about periods and playing drunken Truth or Dare, or if you're curious about my writing process, [please do take a look!](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-fanfic-ask-game) (And feel free to ask more questions!)
> 
> Although we're still on the same day, here's a [calendar current to chapter 10](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/153974617735/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-10) anyway.


	11. trash like me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we have two separate scenes with Sasha in this chapter, how about a song that would appeal to her sense of the absurd? [I'm An Old Cowhand (From The Rio Grande)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jo-pApe1Kd0)

In the morning, you think that Sans' robe has been refolded with less skill than you folded it with. Did he come by while you were sleeping? There's no note for you. Well, it is his apartment, you think with a shrug. Plus somehow, you aren't averse to the idea of him coming back to check on you, admiring his human as you sleep. Thinking of him reminds you of everything you did with him the previous night, and there's a warm feeling in your tummy as you remember the inspection, the slaps, the lotion, the goodnight kiss. Maybe you should have invited him to stay with you overnight, once he was done with whatever he had to do...

Well, it's probably not exactly professional, making an offer like that. 

Today is Saturday, your first day off. Like usual, you start it off with a trip to the surface, once you've had breakfast and dropped that book about monsters safely off at your apartment. As it's the day off for more people than just you, you have the aerial tram all to yourself, and the Concourse is relatively quiet. With no reason to hurry, you decide to walk to the hospital instead of taking the tram. You arrive at Sasha's hospital room feeling relaxed, your lungs full of fresh air.

"So I talked to Prince Jerren yesterday," Sasha says, her voice a little too casual.

You frown. So much for feeling relaxed. "He was back for more reading, I take it?"

"Yeah." She pauses. "I asked him how long he'd been volunteering here. He said ever since the Courtyard was opened back up, after the new treatments were released." She glances at you, raising an eyebrow. "That was the 1st."

You'd conceived of the plan to bring Sasha up to the surface late on the 16th, half a second after Sans had offered you enough money to tempt you into making a deal with him. You'd gone through with it the next morning. The day Jerren started volunteering, Sasha was still in the overcrowded hospital with no hope of moving to even a nicer one underground. By then you'd lost your job, meaning that not only were you in a lot of debt, you had no way of paying it off. Still, at that point you hadn't yet decided to approach Muffet, and you'd certainly had no idea Sans was going to make you that offer. So... your paranoia was unfounded.

Of course, there is that theory you'd once entertained. A theory so ridiculous that only someone who'd read as much fantasy as you could have come up with it... a theory for which you have zero evidence whatsoever. The only reason you can't completely discredit it is because of Sasha's predictions. If you can accept those as real, then it becomes harder to rule out the existence of other improbable abilities... 

"Are you listening to me?" Sasha cuts in, frowning.

"Uh, sorry," you say, rubbing your forehead.

She scowls. "As I was _saying_ , I confirmed it with a nurse later, it was the truth. And then he asked me if I was wondering if his volunteering had something to do with you. I told him I had been thinking it _did_ look suspicious as hell. He laughed." Sasha smiles wryly. "He said he'd been considering his responsibilities lately, which is why he decided to volunteer in the first place." 

You make a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff. " _What_ responsibilities?"

Sasha grins. "That's what I said too. He said he'd probably brought that kind of reaction on himself."

"Can't help but wonder what prompted this change of heart..."

"I asked him. He just said... people change." She shrugs. "He also said, since we'd come back up he'd been thinking about everything he should have done differently when we left the surface."

You roll your eyes, and Sasha shakes her head. "He sounded like he meant it. And he asked about how you'd been doing." She grins. "See? My prediction wasn't wrong after all."

How you've been doing... That irritates you. How does he think you're doing, living underground, your sister half dead? What does he care anyway? But you just ask "What'd you say?"

"I said you'd been upset to hear he was reading to me. And... He looked really guilty. Said he'd wanted to apologize to you for a long time but didn't even know how to start. I was like, I don't remember the finer points of Courtyard etiquette, but underground you'd start off with 'I'm sorry.'"

You can't help but smile. "So now _you're_ lecturing a prince on manners. What a world..."

She smiles too, in that insufferably smug way that lets you know she's about to say something that delights her as much as it'll annoy you. "I don't care he's a prince. I'm an anti-monarchist. I told him so too."

You wince. "Oh God you didn't --"

"Sure I did."

"You can't just go around _saying_ that, Sasha! Especially not to _him!_ And especially -- especially considering Mother..."

"Why not? She wasn't even _really_ a traitor, and everyone treated us like garbage anyway. So I might as well _be_ a traitor. Anyway, he just laughed and said I was a sharp young lady."

You frown. "Turning on the charm again..."

"Yeah, I noticed. Well, it's working. I really almost could like him." You scowl, but she continues before you can respond. "Especially because..." Her voice drops. "He's the one who's behind this 'account,' isn't he?"

Your stomach turns. "What?! No. _Hell_ no. Why would you think _that_?"

She looks taken aback, but answers "Uh, well... because he said he should have done more to help us, and he's trying to think more about his responsibilities toward other people. And..." She raises an eyebrow. "Something happened between the two of you and you're keeping it from me."

"He had _nothing_ to do with getting you up here," you say, your hands clenching into fists.

"OK, OK! So I was wrong. Forget I said it. Sorry."

There's an awkward silence for a few minutes as you calm down. Of course, it was an innocent mistake on Sasha's part... But just the idea that it was Jerren that helped her has you seething. Even if he'd offered, you don't know if you'd have taken his help. You'd rather fuck every monster in New Ebott, and that includes the walking volcano and the giant, goofy octopus with the huge eyes.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" Sasha asks.

"There's... not much to tell," you say cautiously. "I thought he might help us, but... Well, he wouldn't."

"Why not?"

Because you wouldn't become his mistress. 

If you'd said yes, none of this would have ever happened. You and Sasha could have stayed on the surface... You wouldn't have lost your family's estate... You would have had Jerren's full support, and as charismatic as he is, you certainly believe he could have won the entire Courtyard back to your side. 

Could Sasha possibly understand that you rejected the only hope of security and safety left to the two of you, just because you were proud? Just because you'd never truly been able to trust him since your first encounter with him, nine years ago? Just because a sixth sense screamed that putting yourself in his power would be worse than going underground?

You fear that she'd hold it against you, if she knew. That she'd blame you for all the two of you had suffered, probably even for her debilitating illness. And the hell of it is, you'd agree with her. You don't regret your decision for your own sake, especially considering how frightening his reaction to being rejected was. But you often feel like you should have sucked it up and agreed anyway, to protect your sister.

You shrug. "I was too much of a liability by then."

She frowns. "That what he'd say if I asked _him_?"

"Please... don't."

She looks hurt. "I wouldn't keep a secret like that from _you_."

"You had a boyfriend I didn't know about --"

" _He_ thought he was my boyfriend," she interrupts, rolling her eyes. "We only went on one date. He was a lousy kisser."

"You and your friends snuck into a _speakeasy_ \--"

"Just twice." She swallows. "Uh. I hadn't mentioned that second time yet, had I?"

"You --"

"I wouldn't keep _important_ secrets from you," she snaps. "You make it sound like some kind of big deal to have a boyfriend, or to have fun with my friends, or to get suspended --"

"Wait. _What_?"

Sasha swallows. "Um. I, uh..." She clutches her forehead. "Ow! Ow, my head is _killing_ me. And..." She curls up and coughs a few times.

" _When_ did you get _suspended_?"

She closes her eyes and points to her throat. "Whitepox," she says in a strangled voice. "Sorry. Can't talk."

You lean back in your chair and laugh. She opens one eye, looking at you suspiciously. "It's all right, Sasha," you say, rubbing your forehead. "I know you hated that place. Once you're out of here, we'll find you a better school. Things will be different. You'll see." 

"If I ever --"

"Don't even start," you say, cutting her off. "Look, I'm not going to get mad at you. You don't even have to see any of those people ever again, either." You lean forward. "So... what did you get suspended for? And how did you keep it from me?"

You only half pay attention to her answer -- something to do with a teacher who had it out for her, a clique of mean girls and a big bowl of noodles. The only reason you asked was to distract her from her questions. You don't want to lie to your sister, and you don't feel right keeping things from her, but how can you admit to her that her whole life would have been so much better if you'd accepted Jerren's offer? How can you explain to her why you didn't? 

Even back when you'd been prouder and more naive, some part of you had known that even though Jerren was clearly taking advantage of your situation, the deal he was offering you was not the worst outcome in the world. But in the end, there was no way you could bring yourself to take it. Not after how he'd acted toward you, the first time you met at that party nine years ago... Even though he'd gone out of his way to forge a friendship with you in subsequent years, some sixth sense had always warned you away from trusting him. The way he'd reacted when you'd rejected his offer had proved that you were right. He'd terrified you, that night... you still don't like to remember the things he'd said, or how he'd hurt you.

Maybe you _should_ tell Sasha, you think, shuddering. Even if she'd be upset with you for choosing to take her underground, you're not doing her any favors by glossing over just how duplicitous and dangerous Jerren actually is...

Well. Now's not the time to make that decision, as the effort of telling her story has exhausted her, and she's already drifting off.

After your visit with Sasha you treat yourself to a cheap lunch out at a café by your place, then pick up some cleaning supplies and some more books to take to the apartment. You don't have time to do it now, though, so you bring them to your own apartment, then take the bus to the theater. Just stepping over the threshold into the movie theater always delights you, and you start to smile as you look up, admiring the mural on the ceiling. You follow the usher to a seat, sit down and wait for the newsreel to start. Before Sasha's illness upended everything, you'd usually go to the movies to distract yourself from the monotony of your own life. Today it's to distract you from its drama, as there are times lately when you feel like you've wound up in a movie yourself.

_The Perils of Paola_ is just what you expected from the sequel to _The Persuasion of Paola_ and _Paola, Powerless_ , although all the emphasis on the heroine's sexual purity does start to irritate you. Between your string of boyfriends over the past few years, your stint servicing random monsters and your arrangement with Sans, you've thoroughly torched yours. The bright side is that anyone who's ever interested in marrying you will at least have to love you very much, because God knows he won't be doing it for your virginity, the advantages your family connections will bring, your scandal-free past, or your cooking skills. 

That assumes you'd find anyone you wanted to marry in the first place. So far you've struck out spectacularly, given your habit of dating men you know damn well aren't actually suited to you. Half your boyfriends had nothing in common with you once you got off the dance floor, and when you managed to find a man who didn't turn out to be pushy, condescending or wishy-washy, he'd usually end up dumping _you_. Sans doesn't strike you as any of those things... so is that how things will end with him, too? 

That's a ridiculous way to think about it, you lecture yourself. It's not like you're dating! What's going on is the exact opposite of that. And it can't be a good idea to spend your day off thinking about him... He's a gangster, you know nothing about him, and this whole arrangement is just because he wants sex on demand with a nice human girl. He probably can't even dance.

After the movie you head back to your apartment, get dressed to go out, and go back out to enjoy some music and dancing. Lunch out, a movie and a night out is extravagant as hell by your standards, but why not? It's your day off.

Even with the whitepox scare, the place is crowded on Saturday night. An hour in, one of your ex-boyfriends, Clarence, asks you to dance. Although he'd dumped you, the breakup had been relatively amicable. A couple of years later, you're on good enough terms to dance a few songs together and catch up every few months. He's the sort that likes to hear himself talk, and whenever you see him he tries to impress you enough to get you back into bed. It's worked a handful of times, when you've been single and feeling particularly sorry for yourself. Poor Clarence... You're technically still single, and perhaps feeling a little lonely, but he doesn't have a chance this time. All the same, you accept the invitation.

He usually starts talking about whatever's annoying him lately, after the two of you have gotten through the initial pleasantries. Today is no exception.

"So I heard the most ridiculous thing the other day..."

"Oh? Do tell," you say, intending to tune out the upcoming long-winded rant and enjoy some dancing.

He points up at the sky -- the standard New Ebott gesture to refer to the surface, although Clarence would consider it too crass to use his middle finger -- and his voice is low as he says "Do you know they keep _horses_ up there? Can you believe that? Horses!"

You continue to smile pleasantly, but inwardly you're cringing. This rant may be a little harder to tune out than usual.

Horses don't show up in the more advanced Concourse at all, but in the Courtyard, horses are a plaything for the most elite of the aristocrats, given the astronomical expense of feeding, maintaining and exercising them. Jerren has a knack with horses... He'd taken you to the palace stables once, and laughed at how intimidated you were by the animals.

Clarence continues, "And that's a fact, not just more garbage the papers made up. But it sure sounds like a lie, right? Just imagine how much money it takes to make that happen! How much space they need up there! How much hay and water and... what else do horses eat anyway?" 

"They like apples," you murmur. You'd fed Jerren's favorite horse apple slices, trying to hide your conviction that it would chomp up your entire hand.

He groans. "Apples. Think there are any kids down _here_ who'd like some apples? So sorry! There's horsies up in paradise who need their little treats. Apples, and... it must be pounds of food, gallons of water for each horse, each day --"

Over twenty pounds of food and ten gallons of water each day, Jerren had informed you, back when you had no real idea how much money that represented. You keep those facts to yourself; it wouldn't do to have Clarence wonder just how you know all this horse trivia.

"It's amazing. If you really think about it, it's amazing," he continues. As he'd started to rant about apples and hay, he'd gotten a little louder, but now he's back to the low tones in which he started. "Here we are, just trying to get by, right? But all around us, out of sight, out of mind, there's these vast channels of money and supplies that keep the surface running. It's this whole incredible, massive infrastructure that sucks up money, energy and time. And what do we get out of it? The satisfaction of knowing a bunch of jerks with more money than God are up there on their blasted horses, getting their vitamin D." 

You can't help but giggle at this image, and it seems to encourage him. In a near whisper, he continues "If you think about the surface for even five minutes, it doesn't make any sense whatsoever. I'm not even talking about the part where there's some bizarre force keeping it from squishing a bunch of poor monsters. I mean how we all just think it's normal for all that wealth, power and technical progress to be concentrated in one tiny area of New Ebott where people like you and I can't even _go_. My students, they don't see anything wrong with it. For them, it's just the way things are. And the brighter ones, they think that if they work hard enough, if they get just the right lucky break at the right time, maybe they can see it themselves one day. What am I supposed to tell them, y'know?" He shakes his head. 

"I guess I've never really thought about it," you murmur weakly. That's your standard response whenever people start discussing the surface -- although the direction this conversation is taking would make most underground New Ebott residents uncomfortable, not just you. "How are your students doing this year?"

"See, that's exactly how all this is allowed to happen," he continues, entirely ignoring your attempt at changing the subject. "The power is all down here with _us_ , with the people who produce and create. We just never even think about using it, whether out of apathy, learned helplessness, or the belief that it could be us up there, if things were just a little different..."

"You're sounding awfully subversive, Clarence," you say with a teasing smile.

He dips his head, whispering in your ear as you dance. "There's a reason for that. I'm not the only one who thinks Open Skies had the right idea."

Your heart stops. No - no, he's not telling you this because he _knows_. He's telling you this because he wants to impress you with his revolutionary spirit, which might perhaps inspire you to support him with a blowjob. 

"Don't _say_ that," you hiss. "Someone might hear."

"So you agree?"

"I don't want to see you in front of a firing squad, that's all."

He gives your shoulder a pat. "Aw, I know you're not gonna sell me out."

"No, but --"

"Don't worry, I know how to be discreet." His arm around your shoulder slips down to your waist, and his hand tightens over yours. "How about we continue this conversation at my place? I'll make you dinner."

You laugh. "Clarence, you are downright transparent."

He chuckles and even blushes a bit, deepening the color of his brown skin. "That's not _exactly_ a no... right?"

"It's a no."

He grins and shifts his arm back up to your shoulder. "Found someone nice, have you?" 

"No, I just... Uh, I've got plans tonight..."

"Not meaning to be nosy," he says genially, patting your shoulder. "Well... just think about what I said, all right?"

You agree to do so, and this time when you attempt to change the subject he follows along, making light conversation until the end of the song.

Clarence probably didn't believe your line about having plans, but you're tired, anyway. You hail a taxi and get in, thinking absently about Clarence and his judgment of the surface as you gaze out the window. If you're honest with yourself, the luxury that surrounded you as a child -- and the complex system that allowed it to exist -- was something you never thought about until your mother was arrested. Your knee-jerk reaction to the existence of Open Skies, which you saw as having tricked and taken advantage of your mother somehow, was to despise the group and reject their grievances. Human nature being what it is, it took you a few years of life underground to acknowledge that they'd had a point. The existence of the surface creates severe inequality in New Ebott, and --

You're jolted out of your train of thought when the taxi drives by a man walking a beagle puppy. Orion! It's Orion! 

No, of course it's not, your rational mind informs you immediately. The dog you saw was a puppy, and of course Orion would be seven, almost eight years old by now, if he's still around... He'd been a present to you and your brother for your 18th birthday; you'd been charmed by the puppy's cuteness, but it was Mattias who loved the dog whole-heartedly right from the start. Not all that long afterward, your mother had been arrested. During the next few months, Matty had poured his anxiety and energy into training and playing with Orion, while you'd tried to distract yourself by sketching the two of them. 

The day before you'd gone underground, your family's estate had been vandalized. Insults to your mother had been scrawled on the walls of the garden she'd loved so much, plants had been ripped up by their roots, and Orion was gone. It was unclear if he'd been taken by the vandals or if he'd run away, as one of the doors leading out of the garden had been left open for hours, and Orion had already run away a couple of times after Matthias' death. You hadn't been able to find him in the remaining time permitted to you, and there was no chance of that time being extended; the vindictive, authoritarian head of surface security was convinced you were no better than your mother. That very morning, before you'd been informed of the vandalism, you'd been comforting yourself with the idea that there was nothing left that could possibly go wrong. What an optimist you'd been.

You tormented yourself with the idea that the vandals had taken their anger on your mother's perceived treachery out on your poor dog, or that Orion had gotten lost or trapped somewhere. Ever since then, every time you saw a beagle, you remembered that horrible year... and Matty. Well, maybe you'll see Ionathia and Adaleia again soon and ask if Orion was ever found, you tell yourself as you arrive outside your apartment building. 

Your mind wanders as you make dinner, then get ready for bed. But despite all the fun things you did today.. and despite your interesting conversation with Sasha... it insists on wandering back a little further. Back to getting spanked, and Sans telling the story about how he'd been so distracted by you he'd taken a job he didn't mean to. Then to the way he'd inspected you, his hand over your neck, his fingers running over yours... and to the part where he'd made you come then used your body mercilessly. Then, of course, the way he'd chatted with you afterwards, how he'd rubbed that lotion on you, how he'd kissed you...

You've already established that daydreaming about this guy is really not a good idea, you scold yourself. But it's your day off. You can use your time however you want.

Before going to the surface the next morning you take the cleaning supplies and books you bought yesterday, along with your robe and some spare clothes, over to the shared apartment. You stop short when you open the door, and the tune from last night you were whistling dies on your lips. 

Sans is sprawled out on the couch, sleeping. His clothes are a rumpled mess, and the bottle of the monster whiskey he bought is empty, next to a turned-over shot glass. You start to back out of the apartment, intending to come back later. But he opens his eyes.

* _oh SHIT._

* _shit._

* _shit._

* _the hell is she doing here?_

He looks so embarrassed you can't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I just had some things to drop off... I'll come back later..."

"s'all right," he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. "you're already here. c'mon in."

* _what a fucking numbskull i am._

You step back inside, closing the door. "I just picked up some cleaning stuff. Some laundry detergent and dish soap to do the dishes and things like that. Some more of my stuff too. And some books." You start putting things away. "Just -- just some more things to read," you say, dimly aware that you're babbling.

"thanks for doin' all that," he mumbles. "hell. what time is it?"

"Seven thirty."

"shit. gotta take care of something." He gets to his feet a little unsteadily and makes his way to the closet, putting on his jacket and holster behind the door. His hat and coat are tossed on the table, and you bring them over to him once he's done.

"Uh... Are you all right?"

* _am i ever?_

"oh, yeah. just gotta get going. work calls. sorry i startled ya. enjoy your sunday." He nods in your direction, still not meeting your eyes, and vanishes.

What the hell was that about? You put the blues record on the turntable back in its sleeve as you wonder. Work calls... at seven thirty in the morning, on Sunday? Is he doing some sort of freelancing work for a church? Sure.

There's several grocery bags on the kitchen floor, all containing monster food. Oh no, he never even put it away? You wince, envisioning having to throw away such a huge amount of spoiled food...

Wait, monster food doesn't spoil, does it? You'd picked up that tidbit of information during the week you'd worked for Muffet. Whew! You might have cried if all that food had gone to waste. Relieved, you start putting it in the pantry, next to the human food you bought for yourself. Funny that Sans just left it all right on the floor... maybe he still is kind of lazy after all? 

There's potato chips, french fries, those crab-shaped apples you like and some other kinds of fruit shaped like marine animals, bunny-shaped cinnamon rolls, a few different types of cookies, cans of soup, hot dogs and buns, relish and mustard, bread and sandwich fixings and more nice creams. Even the nice creams are still fine: they're warm, but they've held their shape somehow. Magical food really has its advantages.

There's something by the notebook. It's a small sketchbook, a box of colored pencils and a book. For you? It must be. Your eyes light up as you inspect them all. Did he see your sketches? You look at the back of the notebook. He's written on the inside cover:

\- you really do have a lot of skills.

You'd rather hoped he might notice the sketches, but now you know that he actually has, you feel embarrassed. That was so sweet of him to pick up these things for you... And the book, what's that? You look at the cover. "Magical Monsters"? A kid's book about monsters? It's written for monster kids, you realize. Wow! You'd wanted to find a book like this when you were going to the monster districts regularly, but you'd thought you'd be better off paying your back rent first. You flip through the book. It's perfect. You want to start reading it now, but you want to check one thing first. Did he leave you a note?

There's a half page of writing, his cartoonish handwriting much sloppier than usual.

\- heya. picked up some food, plus a couple of things for you. hope it makes it a little less boring around here. it feels so quiet. on days i don't come, i'm worried the solitude's going to be too much for you. 

It's just three hours a day. How drunk was he when he wrote this?

\- been thinking a lot about what you said. about how slapping you makes me vulnerable too. when you first said that i thought, the fuck is that supposed to mean? i'm the one leaving marks on YOU. (and god it feels great.) but you explained what you meant, and i thought, shit, she's right. everything she said is right. and i couldn't get it out of my head. 

\- what i can't figure out is, why the hell do you trust me in the first place? you must know what i am. you sweet, dangerous girl... putting yourself in the power of trash like me.

Sweet, dangerous girl... huh. This is going to get complicated, isn't it?

He must have been _really_ drunk, you think, reading and re-reading the note. Are you supposed to pretend you never saw it? No, you're going to respond. You sit down at the table and consider what to write.

\- So you're intense in bed, so you get off on slapping me. So what? That doesn't make you trash. You only let yourself go with me because I like it. You've never been anything less than respectful of me, and you're always paying attention to how I respond to you. All of that creates a connection... a connection, I might add, that led to a fantastic evening.

It seems unfair to be answering his drunken fears stone cold sober, but you're not about to bust out the echo wine this early in the morning to write back. You take the sketchbook and monster book with you when you leave, tucking both into your handbag. It's been a while since you carried a sketchbook everywhere you went, and it just feels right to have it there.

You think about what Sans wrote the entire way to the surface, looking absently out the window as underground New Ebott slips away. Does he make a habit of getting that drunk, or was it a response to feeling so vulnerable? You don't get the sense he's used to feeling that way... maybe you shouldn't have said it at all? And he called you dangerous. Sweet, too, you remember, feeling a flush of pleasure, but that hardly cancels out 'dangerous.' So you know nothing about him, but it would seem you're occupying just as large a place in his thoughts as he is in yours. If in his mind he's vulnerable to you and you own him... Then who the hell is actually the dominant one here? 

And... you'd written your response assuming that he was talking about sex and his more sadistic desires, but... what if he wasn't? The way he wrote 'what i am' doesn't exactly inspire you with confidence... Does he mean something besides his being a dangerous monster who works with gangsters? What if he was trying to warn you that he's not a man to be trusted? Well, that wouldn't change what you're doing right now... you need his money. But what would it mean if you want to break the deal? His line about how he couldn't concentrate if he didn't have you to himself seemed flattering at the time, but what if he gets violent, or starts stalking you? 

It's a frightening idea. But what good would it do you to dwell on it? You knew he was dangerous when you made the deal, you have no intention of breaking it anyway, and... maybe it's just because he's rather charming, or perhaps because he does it for you in bed like no one you've ever slept with, but you genuinely like him. For the time being, you decide, your best course of action is to observe his actions and not go borrowing trouble.

When you visit Sasha, she looks at you shrewdly. "Are you getting this money from something bad?"

"I told you not to worry about it."

"I know there's no account. It would have been seized too. And I thought Jerren might have been helping you somehow, but I was wrong. So I'm worried about _you_. I keep picturing you doing really horrible things..."

"Robbing banks, right?"

She shakes her head, and her expression is haunted.

Crap. Her imagination is probably worse than the truth. She's too young to know precisely what depravity is available to someone like you, but she's old enough to come up with some extremely interesting stories. Sans wants to keep your connection a secret, and you don't want to break your agreement -- even to her. But apparently she's been ruminating on it more than you realized.

You lean forward, whispering. "I'm not doing anything bad. I'm not hurting anyone. I'm not doing anything I don't want to do."

She whispers too. "Then what _are_ you doing?"

You take a deep breath. You're not going to tell, exactly. "You remember _The Persuasion of Paola_?"

"Yeah?"

"And how there was that rich guy who tried to convince her to be his mistress? And she said no, no matter how much he offered her?" 

An eleven-year old Sasha had come out of the theater asking what a mistress was, which had led to an awkward conversation about what exactly the man was offering Paola and why she was so intent on rejecting him. You'd still handled the talk better than your own mother had, when it had been your turn.

Sasha's eyes are wide. You continue in a whisper, "What if she said yes?"

"But he was the villain..."

"What if he wasn't? What if he was... respectful, and thoughtful, instead of a handsome jerk? What if she liked spending time with him?" 

What if he slapped her and she liked it? Not how these kinds of stories tend to go.

Sasha's eyes light up, and she gives you a knowing look. "What if he was the hero instead?"

Great. Your melodramatic sister is going to get the entirely wrong idea about sex work. "Uh... No, I wouldn't go that far..."

"But it sounds so romantic!"

Romantic? 'I love breaking you in bed' is rather far removed from 'I love you.' You shake your head. "That's _not_ how it is. It's, uh... it's more like a business arrangement."

"It's got to be more than that. If he likes you so much he'll give you _this_ kind of money..."

"He's got a stressful life. He likes the way I make him feel. That's all it is."

"How does he make you feel?"

You feel blood rushing to your cheeks. "Uh..." 

She grins. "You like him, don't you?"

That hadn't exactly been what you were thinking. No, your dirty mind had flitted back to the way he'd made you come then used your body, which had made you feel very good indeed. Yeah, that's a tidbit you will not be sharing with your little sister.

You lean forward, smoothing her forehead. Your hand is cool against her skin, and she closes her eyes, smirking. "It's _not_ like that," you insist. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. And, uh... it's really not something I should be talking about with you. I just don't want you to worry about what I'm doing."

"I won't..."

"And it's a secret. Do you understand? If anyone knew, I don't know if they'd take my money or not, and I can't risk it. As long as they think that I've gained access to one of our family's hidden accounts, you're one of them. That's how things have to stay, for as long as it takes."

"I won't say a word," she promises. 

The two of you turn to safer subjects like the movie you saw without her and the dancing you did last night, and you amuse her with an impression of Clarence railing against horses in the Courtyard eating all the apples in New Ebott. She agrees with him, and wants to discuss just why you let this brilliant, worthy man slip between your fingers. You like to think she's improving... her color seems better, she seems a little more animated. But all the same, it's not long until she's exhausted just by the effort of making conversation. You stay with her until she falls asleep, singing lullabies to her.

Back at the apartment, Sans teleports into the living room with a panicked expression. He flips through the notebook, then smacks his forehead.

* _i DID write something. shit._

* _what a dumbass move, showing up here yesterday, thinking she might too. even though it was her day off._

* _of course she didn't. because it was her fucking day off._

* _why didn't i check the damn notebook before leaving? i'd have ripped that page out._

* _but... she wrote back already..._

He leans back in his chair and reads the two paragraphs you wrote multiple times, frowning.

* _so. she says she trusts me because i'm respectful to her, and because i pay close attention to her._

* _i can see why that makes sense to her, but she might feel differently about the matter if she understood why i act the way i do._

* _i fantasize about keeping her captive here, ensuring that my magic runs continuously through her veins. i want to brutalize her, mark her and taste her blood. i want to slap her until she begs me to stop, then backhand her so hard i knock the breath out of her. as it starts to dawn on her that i never actually needed her consent, i want to force myself inside her... and see panic in her eyes as she understands she's sold herself to a true monster._

* _but i just couldn't do that to her, or to anyone. i've slipped far too much already._

* _i'm well aware of how fragile humans are... and things get ugly when men with even a fraction of my power can't tell fantasy from reality. i'm not going to traumatize some poor gal just because she was unfortunate enough to end up sleeping with a freak like me._

* _i might get off on the idea of a human woman fearing me, but... right now i look into her eyes and i read pleasing things. attraction, warmth, playfulness, a desire to satisfy me._

* _it'd grieve my soul if i looked into those eyes and read terror and revulsion there, instead._

* _i don't know why i have to be so goddamn complicated._

* _and... a connection, huh. she's not wrong there either, but..._

* _i try to avoid even this level of intimacy. i've largely shut out everyone who knew me when papyrus was alive. and although i have a lot of superficial connections in the human world and even a handful of people i really like, this feels different._

* _on some level i knew this couldn't be done entirely impersonally. that seemed like an acceptable tradeoff to me, so that i could satiate myself in a way that didn't leave my soul feeling like shit._

* _god, i was getting so tired of women who were so terrified of me that i had to send them home, women who got off on the disgust and taboo of being fucked by what they considered a lower form of life, women who were obviously only after the notoriety of being the one to captivate me... or kill me._

* _i was sure this would be better. not even a week in, that's an understatement._

* _still, it's one thing to expect that's the kind of bargain i'm making, and another thing to feel the truth of it in my soul._

* _of course, a connection with someone i'm paying to fuck, someone who doesn't even want me to call her by her name... that's about the most fragile, pathetic kind of connection i can think of._

* _so it's only fitting, right? making a connection with a call girl in this godawful timeline._

* _that's the entire point of doing this, after all. i can fuck her, i can amuse myself with her, i can distract myself so goddamn efficiently..._

* _and when the reset hits i won't even miss her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always interests me how many of us have looked at Sans -- a character whose sexuality is canonically repressed by depression and hopelessness -- and concluded that under the right circumstances, he could be sadistic, dominant and ruthless. Unsurprisingly I gravitate to that sort of portrayal of him because that's what I'm into, but I started writing fanfiction with my version of Sans before I started reading other people's interpretations of him, so... I think we're seeing _something_ there. 
> 
> APJFM actually started as nothing more than an experiment in plausibly bringing out that side of him from the very start, just to turn myself on... because I am the sort of person who can't write a straightforward sex scene without becoming distracted by thoughts such as "Wait, why would monsters have human-style genitalia? Wouldn't his first time having sex with a human probably be lousy? What would have to change so that instead of feeling uninterested in sex, he's open to casual sex with humans? If he truly doesn't believe anything matters, what's to stop someone with his kind of power from going too far?" So I wrote something where all that had been settled earlier in his life. 
> 
> Later on in APJFM, we will actually hear from Sans about his first time with a human... and yes, it was rather underwhelming for his poor partner.
> 
> But that's not going to be for many chapters yet! Next time, Reader does some reading. So if you're wondering what that forbidden book has to say about Sans, or how monsters use their magic to express themselves, then come back in... oh, let's say two weeks if I'm feeling optimistic, three if I'm feeling realistic.
> 
> In other news, plsdontkinkshameme created a [fantastic piece of fanart (NSFW)](http://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com/post/154317555727/you-smile-back-admiring-the-skill-with-which-he) for Chapter 10! It depicts the aftermath of the previous session with, shall we say, loving detail (yeah, I still like going back to it and looking at Reader's butt). As a bonus, there's Sans in a suit and a cute coat and hat!
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns)! It's impossible to state just how much her comments and suggestions improve APJFM.
> 
> Check <http://neroli9.tumblr.com/> for status updates and other fun stuff!
> 
> And as usual, here's [a calendar current to chapter 11](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/155532360660/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-11).


	12. my murdery non-boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader does a lot of reading in this chapter, and like me she prefers some classical music while reading. So enjoy [Gabriel Fauré's Pavane.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhiVuIRw4tM)

It's mid-afternoon by the time you get back underground, after your visit to Sasha earlier. Although it's your second day off, yesterday provided more than enough excitement for an introvert like you, so you spend the time running some errands and fixing yourself a quiet dinner at your apartment. You keep thinking of that notebook... Has Sans written back? What did he have to say? You could pop by and see... 

No, not yet. It's your day off. It's good for him to remember that you have your own life, and you're not constantly available to him.

Instead, you decide to tackle your reading material. You start with the book you bought the other day, just to get it out of the way. There barely seems a point to reading something so vile, especially now that Sans has provided you with an alternative, and you just skim it. But you've been curious about how it feels to get your soul pulled out, and you slow down to read that part.

\- Although some monsters have learned to use their bodies for physical attacks, producing a simulation of human-style fighting which tends to be weaker, and although some of them are able to shape their magic such that it can affect the body, monsters tend to prefer to do battle with humans by directly affecting what they term our souls. This is done by pulling out the target's soul and sending magic directly at it.

\- Monsters treat souls with a primitive sort of reverence, unless those souls belong to humans attacking them or their homes -- then all bets are off. Having your soul yanked out of your body by an angry monster is a jarring, even frightening experience. 

You shudder as you remember that monster who had threatened to pull out your soul and attack you, back when you'd worked for Muffet. You're grateful you'd had the presence of mind to grab your handbag and flee... although it'd been uncomfortable as hell, taking a taxi back to your apartment wearing nothing but your coat and spending the entire ride revisiting all of your poor life choices.

\- It is not uncommon for a first-time hunter to be so unequal to the situation that it causes them to retreat entirely. Don't make this mistake! Trying to run splits your attention between defending your soul and your body, weakening both, and you might not be able to escape at all. Although your opponent may very well have pity on you and let you run away, you can't count on it. If they take the opportunity to attack, instead, you'll leave your corpse in the shadow of the surface while your soul is collected for ghastly experiments or absorbed by your attacker, rendering that monster unbelievably powerful. Should you encounter a monster who's absorbed a soul, trust me -- RUN.

You pause to re-read this paragraph, your heart sinking. You've heard rumors that monsters collected souls for experiments, and that they could absorb human souls. You'd dismissed those and other fanciful stories as urban legends, but this author seems pretty confident about their claims. Have they _seen_ a monster who's absorbed a soul? That's disturbing. Another troubling thought flits through your mind... 

If it's possible for monsters to absorb souls, then has Sans ever done it?

The idea makes you shudder. You knew the man was dangerous when you sold yourself to him, but somehow, it's easier to imagine him shooting someone. It's an awful mental picture, but at least it's a familiar one. Absorbing a soul... That's a frightening, alien idea. 

You don't know if what the book says is even true, you reassure yourself. You don't know if Sans has ever done something like that. And you're certainly not about to _ask_. Part of being his human -- part of what you're being paid for -- is not thinking about questions like that too hard. But there's goosebumps up your arms as you return to the book.

There's a section detailing hundreds of different kinds of monsters, with a picture of each type and a small section about their capabilities. Some of them are even called out by name: in the section on spider monsters, there's a couple of paragraphs dedicated to the "notable specimen" Muffet. Flipping through the section you're brought back to your week in the districts... how you'd explored so many different body types, submitted to having your own body prodded and inspected by curious monsters, and answered questions about your species that bordered on impertinent, but were always prompted only by curiosity. You wouldn't exactly class your foray into prostitution as a high point in your life, but it had been made easier by the fact that for the most part, the monsters you'd slept with had been kinder to you than you suspect human men would have been. Plus, you have fond memories of exploring the monster districts, seeing types of monsters you'd never even known existed. It turns your stomach to see them all treated as targets... their deaths as some sort of 'sport.'

This section might be upsetting, but you have a particular reason for subjecting yourself to it. If there's a couple of paragraphs about Muffet... might there not be something about Sans? You soon locate a few paragraphs on skeleton monsters, accompanied by a sketch of a skeleton that looks rather like Sans, although he's drawn naked and with a neutral expression, not a grin. The passage reads:

\- Skeleton monsters are an extraordinarily rare breed to begin with, and in recent years their numbers have declined precipitously -- perhaps by as much as fifty percent. They are now seldom sighted within the districts, perhaps because their curious resemblance to human remains disgusts their fellow monsters. 

\- Although little firsthand data on their attack patterns and capabilities has been gathered by sporting enthusiasts, one anonymous hunter reports that the sensation of their knife turning a ribcage into dust is most satisfying, and that the manner in which a skeleton monster dies is slightly different from the deaths of other monsters. Perhaps due to the segmented nature of its body, it may turn to dust in stages, retaining some semblance of consciousness for longer than expected.

\- Notable specimens: Sans, alias Dead Eyes.

Startled, you stop reading there. Jack had mentioned that name when you'd gone out dancing a few days ago. What was it that he said? Wasn't it about seeing Dead Eyes walking someone's dogs? You're pretty sure it was... You try to remember the details, but all you can come up with is that Steve had thought the idea so implausible that he didn't believe it. Well, no wonder! You start giggling, thinking about Sans being pulled along the sidewalk by a bunch of dogs, probably swearing under his breath the whole time. Was that the job he mentioned the other day... the one he'd only taken because he'd got distracted thinking about your ass? 

You're not about to ask either Jack or Sans for clarification, but if you're right, that's pretty hilarious. Although the nickname itself is anything but hilarious... How'd he get a nickname like that? Is it just because his eyes might seem kind of creepy, with the little spots of light moving around in the sockets? 

\- A not insignificant percentage of my readers will have picked up this book hoping for advice on dusting the most notorious skeleton monster -- if not the most notorious monster -- in New Ebott. 

\- Well, here it is: Don't. Although there may be rewards from various quarters for a handful of his dust, there are easier ways of making money. There are also vastly more pleasant ways to die. 

\- Should you encounter this curiously intelligent and enigmatic aberration, don't be misled by his superficial charm or his trademark grin. Instead, treat him as if he has a gun constantly aimed at your head. He's seemingly impossible to take by surprise, as his laid-back demeanor masks the fact that his instincts render him highly conscious of his environment and the people around him at all times. 

\- Furthermore, his relationship with the human race can only be described as twisted, in that he seems equally happy to work with humans, kill them, or even engage in a perverted simulation of intercourse with them. This abnormal attitude towards us is likely related to the death of his brother at the hands of a hunter. It is extremely ill-advised to make reference to this event in his hearing, particularly in a mocking or joking way.

\- This specimen has incurred both the wrath of humans and the mistrust of monsters for his hobby of meddling in human affairs, and there's no doubt the city would be better off without him. It may seem like an impossible task, but have faith: perhaps some day the legendary hunter that dusted his imbecile brother will return to finish the job.

As you read the section that's specifically about Sans, your horror grows. You'd known he was dangerous, and you'd guessed he had blood on his hands. But this account of him makes him sound like some sort of sociopathic living weapon... like someone to whom you should not have sold yourself under any circumstances.

This was written by some degenerate who gets off on killing monsters and wrote an entire book to help other people do it too, you remind yourself. It's only fitting that the anonymous author and Sans would be natural enemies. And it's not as if Sans is able to defend himself, to point out that the caution the author describes is a rational reaction to having what sounds like bounties on his head, and that someone who would clearly like to see him dead isn't to be trusted for a fair evaluation of his personality. Sans has always been good to you, and that has to count for a whole lot more than this... written as it is by someone you would no doubt despise, if you met them.

You should know better than anyone that you can't believe everything you read about a person, given how thoroughly you yourself had been smeared by the underground papers. Your stomach turns as you remember that horrible day you'd gone through a week's worth of news and discovered that not only had the story of your mother's involvement with Open Skies leaked underground shortly before you came underground, but that there was a reason why everyone who you were asking for help looked at you with suspicion... or seemed repulsed by you. 

In reality, you hadn't been involved with any part of your mother's supposed treachery. A teenager at the time, you'd still had the luxury of thinking of your parents as supporting players in your life, and had hardly concerned yourself with their doings. But as if a story of treason, duels and suicide wasn't exciting enough, the newspaper editors seemed to think it had to be sexed up by making the family's eighteen-year old daughter into a scheming, incestuous seductress who'd probably been the cause of the whole thing in the first place. An article exploring how you might have killed your father with your hidden magic powers and faked his suicide in a failed attempt to take control of the estate was one of the _nicer_ ones. And although it was all written in euphemistic language, no one could quite decide if you'd been sleeping with your mother, father, brother or the family dog... so the obvious conclusion was that you'd probably screwed all of them at once.

You still vividly remember trying to convince your father's cousin to help you and Sasha. Everyone knows that news about the Courtyard is probably made up, she'd said -- with just enough stress on the word 'probably' that you got the sense that she was willing to entertain the possibility you'd only fucked one family member -- but surely you could understand what people might think if they took you in? 

By and by you'd changed your name and jettisoned your identity, and between the mix-up about the date you and Sasha came down, the imposters and con artists who capitalized on your notoriety, the sightings of you that never panned out and the general mistrust of news from the Courtyard, underground New Ebott had generally decided you never really existed in the first place. You and Sasha joke about this sometimes, casting yourselves as the women without a past -- as if you're a glamorous pair of spies. But although with her you treat it lightly, it's something you ruminate on more than you should. Not only have you not cleared your mother's name, you've essentially disowned her, and you made up a completely fictitious background just to have something to say when people make small talk about families. Your father had been devoted to his three children, and you pretend he'd run out on you... and you don't even acknowledge that you _had_ a brother, lest anyone connect too many dots. You often feel like you've betrayed your family, first by outliving them, then by abandoning their memories and disavowing them. 

Still, perhaps in a sense you've got it better than Sans. He probably knows trash like this is being written about him, and who knows what humans and monsters say behind his back... It must be hard for him to know that he's the subject of gossip about his brother and his sex life.

That is enough of this _garbage_ , you decide. You take some satisfaction from chucking the book in the trash, right on top of a couple of moldy plums you'd thrown away earlier. 

Now for the real fun, you think with a smile as you bring out the book Sans got for you. Not only is it a picture book written for monster kids, you soon find, but it was apparently written and illustrated _by_ a monster kid. The 'Note To Parents' foreword says that the book was originally a school report on souls. You probably could have handled something pitched just a little older, but Sans must figure you need the most basic of basics.

\- It's complicated to be a monster, isn't it? Do you ever wonder sometimes about where magical energy comes from, how our souls and our bodies work together, and what's the difference between determination and perseverance? Don't worry! I'm going to help you sort it all out and answer a lot of your questions. (But not all of them, I still don't quite get the difference between determination and perseverance either!) Ready? Let's learn about Magical Monsters!

It's illustrated by a cute, childish picture of a parade of monster kids, all led by a sort of crystalline monster kid carrying a flag labeled "Magical Monsters." Although they boast a wide range of body shapes, they're all wearing striped shirts. 

It starts with a short section about monster history, which sounds so like a fairy tale to you that you wonder how accurate it is. According to the author, before the clouds appeared there had been a war between humans and monsters because humans feared monsters' powers. This war ended with the monsters being sealed underground. However, at some point after humans had created the floating island known as the surface, they brought the monsters back up for some unknown reason. Apparently monsters now feel uncomfortable going underground because it affects their magic, but a machine called the CORE is down there, which provides the magical energy monsters use to renew their own magic and provide power to the districts.

There's a paragraph about monster-human relations, griping that a lot of humans think of monsters as demons or animals, and some want to kill or kidnap them. But there's a disclaimer that some humans are "actually pretty cool," even living with monsters and bonding with them. Bond with them? What does that mean? Well, maybe you'll find out if you keep reading. 

There's a long section about monster bodies, magic and souls. Apparently monsters are literally made of magic, and their bodies are expressions of their souls. So not only are their bodies unlike those of any other creature, they defy the laws of nature. Their magic is described as an expression of their soul that can be drawn out, shaped and used for different things. If you're understanding it right, monsters don't really see a difference between their souls, their magic and their bodies -- "it's all really the same thing that just shows up in different ways," the book claims. Bodies and souls are so deeply connected that apparently strong emotions can have a physical effect on monsters; bad news can cause such a strong shock that other people can feel the effect within the monster's body, persistent negative feelings can make a monster feel so off-balance that it's harder to use their bodies well, and a monster that doesn't want to fight is extra vulnerable to attack.

The writer has a lot to say about how amazing and beautiful souls are. They all have colors, and monsters associate different colors with different personality types. But they're careful to make it clear that soul color doesn't define personality; rather, a soul's color "reflects the best of what makes you most yourself, deep down." Souls are apparently very personal for monsters, and the author says that monster children learn more about souls when they're older, which seems like a rather tantalizing bit of information. 

You're aware that humans have souls too, in the sense that monsters use the word; twice now you've seen a human's soul get pulled out by monsters for a fight, and of course there was the monster that threatened to pull yours out. But you hadn't known the colors were meaningful, and now you can't help wondering what kind of soul you have. Maybe Sans could show you sometime... although after reading that other book, you can't help but wonder if having it pulled out would hurt. It might not be worth it, finding out what color yours is...

Monsters have weight and mass, but apparently it's all determined by their magic; according to the book there's only a tiny amount of physical matter in them. This is different from "water-based" creatures like humans. The author seems baffled as to how someone can be made of water without sloshing around when they walk, which makes you smile. This physical nature supposedly makes your bodies stronger than those of monsters. You're finding this a little hard to believe, given that Sans is strong, solid and much heavier than a human skeleton. It's some consolation that this all seems confusing to the author as well, who goes on to write about how weird it is that even though human bodies are stronger, they get hurt easier and sometimes get sick -- and can't heal just by eating magical candy. 

But even with these weaknesses, the author continues, humans are extremely strong compared to monsters because of the relative strength of their souls. According to the book, human souls are "actually extra super strong, waaaaaay stronger than ours." Huh. Your soul doesn't feel anywhere near that strong, most days. 

\- This strength is the number one reason why humans are so dangerous to monsters, even though we have magic and they don't. Because the more they want to hurt us, the more they can hurt us, and I wish I didn't have to say this, but some of them want to hurt us just 'cause they think it's fun or other stupid reasons. Sometimes it doesn't even matter if the monster is super strong and has powerful magic. If the human is more determined and cruel than other humans, and reeeeeeeally wants to hurt us... well, let's just say that could be EXTREMELY bad. Kinda funny that THEY'RE scared of US, huh? 

You read and re-read this part, certain that you're missing something. How does that even work? You assume that Sans is one of the powerful monsters the author is talking about. Is it implying that even someone like him could be killed by some human... just as long as they really _want_ to kill him? How does that make sense? You gathered from the other book that a lot of humans would like to see Sans dead, and obviously he's still around. Is this book wrong? Does Sans have some sort of secret, or better abilities than other monsters? Has he just not met someone who's wanted to kill him strongly enough? And what would happen if he does? Cold fear settles in your chest. There must be _something_ you're missing, you reassure yourself. Why would he work with humans if it put him in constant danger?

This page is accompanied by an illustration of the crystalline monster kid, its face grave, standing in front of a circle of seated monster kids in front of a chalkboard. Written on the chalkboard is "Remembrance Day - November 30." There's a speech bubble coming from the crystalline monster kid which contains an illustration of a human dressed in white, brandishing a knife and wearing a mask that covers everything but his glittering, cruel eyes. 

Remembrance Day, huh? It must be some sort of holiday. A day to remember monsters killed by humans, you suppose. The man in the drawing looks like some sort of mythological figure, with his exaggeratedly tall stature and white outfit. Perhaps he might be a character in a story adult monsters tell children to introduce them to the dangers of humans? November 30th... It's a date with significance to you, too, although for very different reasons. November 30th, 1927 is when you and Sasha paid one final visit to the garden where your family's ashes were scattered, then left the Courtyard forever. Nearly six years ago, now...

Your heart feels heavy with worry for Sans and memories of your family as you continue reading about all the different types of monsters. Some are recognizable as being a particular type, while others are entirely unique. Most monsters tend to resemble their parents, but sometimes it seems that the universe throws new parents a curveball and delivers a new baby that's totally unlike either of them. The example given is a mouse monster and a horned monster having a baby that looks like a rock. "Well, I guess that's just what the baby's soul felt like being!" is how the author explains it. You can't help but wonder what kind of monsters Sans' parents were. And you'd assumed his brother was a skeleton monster, too, but who knows... maybe his brother was a rock.

According to the book, a monster's lifespan is around 200 years, although there are some kinds of monsters who can live even longer, particularly 'boss monsters.' Their life force is passed from parent to child, meaning that as long as they have no children, they can live for a "waaaaay long time." 

200 years? That's incredible. And what does a being that can live for two centuries think of as a 'waaaay long time'? You also wonder how old Sans is. You'd been thinking of him as in his thirties, maybe? But by monster standards, he might be older. Or younger, even? Maybe they age a lot differently...

Monsters apparently go through a stage of unconsciousness before they die, called "falling down." Their souls vanish when they die, leaving nothing but a small amount of dust. This is called essence, and it's made of the physical matter that had been in the monster's body. For a short period of time, a tiny amount of magic remains in this essence, making it the same color as the monster's soul, but that fades if nothing is done with the dust. 

Before this happens, monsters pick out an object with significance to the deceased and spread the dust over it. This seems to allow the essence to penetrate the object somehow, making it into a memento. The author talks about how their grandfather's essence was spread on a pen that he'd used to design puzzles; using it makes them feel close to him, and their grandmother even talks to it. "And I always feel bad for thinking it's funny," they write, but they agree that talking to the pen actually does feel comforting.

This section makes you so emotional you have to put the book down and think about it a bit. It sounds so much better than putting the body of someone you love in a box and burying it... or burning the bodies, as was done with your family. All you got was three urns of ashes, without the slightest spark of magic, and you scattered them in a garden from which you're forever barred. You'd do anything to see it again, to be able to honor your family and remember them as they deserve... 

Of course, if you'd had three artifacts with essence in them, they'd probably have been taken when you were mugged anyway, and you'd be right where you are now. Still, it seems like a beautiful idea, and you spend a few minutes wondering what you'd have picked out for your parents and brother before moving on to the part about monster culture, in which the author praises puzzles.

\- We use puzzles for defending our borders and our homes, but we also do them just for fun. Puzzles keep your mind and your magic sharp, and they're a great way of making friends! Everyone's happy to help you with a tricky puzzle, and it's also nice to make special puzzles for people. My mom framed the first puzzle I ever made her, and my best friend makes logic puzzles for me all the time 'cause they know those are my favorite! 

This part makes you smile. So puzzles are used for more than just trapping humans, huh? Come to think of it, there had been whole bookstores devoted to puzzles... And making them for your friends is a thing? What kinds of puzzles does Sans make for his friends? What if he made one for you? No... that's not likely to happen.

\- We also love using our magic to create beautiful art! How we can use our magic depends on the power we're born with, the amount of practice we put into using it and our imaginations. So we use it for everything from pretty patterns to put into cards and send to our friends, all the way to special displays of magic that can wow a whole crowd! I like to use my magic to light up my crystals and make me look even more sparkly, but that's kiddie stuff. My parents can do beautiful displays of patterns and pictures, and I've seen even more amazing ones at concerts, parties and places like that. 

That does sound pretty... The illustration shows a monster on a stage producing a complex pattern, something like magical fireworks. Monsters in the audience are sending up sparks of their own magic, which appears to be the monster version of applause. It looks like it'd be a real treat to see... Can Sans do that? 

You end up re-reading the book a few times before bedtime, trying to absorb the information. It gives you a lot to think about... particularly the part about how monsters seem to be uniquely vulnerable to humans. If Sans is willing to give you a book like this, then surely he won't mind you asking a couple of questions about it, right?

You're in a good mood the next morning as you take the aerial tram up to go visit Sasha. It's really rather indecent of you to be _this_ happy about starting your work week, you think with a smile as you watch the city disappear under the blanket of clouds. You'd certainly never liked Mondays this much as a secretary, and God knows you'd never spent as much time thinking about your old boss over the weekend as you've done with Sans. You keep wondering what he wrote back to you, and whether he'll be there today or not... 

 

Sasha has probably been considering all this time how she can squeeze information about Sans out of you, and you wonder how you're going to handle the conversation as you open the door to her room. She's looking tired, you think, frowning, and she seems dispirited, but she cheers up when she sees you.

"So what can you tell me about this guy?"

Ah, the direct approach. You look around quickly before leaning forwards. "I probably shouldn't talk about him," you whisper.

"Why not?"

"I, uh... I don't want anyone to figure it out."

"The only reason anyone would figure anything out is because you're being so suspicious," she points out. "If you don't act so weird about it, anyone who heard you would just think you're talking about your boyfriend. There's nothing wrong with having a boyfriend, right?"

"Um... he's really _not_ my boyfriend," you whisper, your cheeks heating up. "I can't talk about it with you, Sasha. It's... well, it's complicated, and --"

"I just want to know what he's like," she insists. "So pretend he's your boyfriend and tell me."

"Well..." You consider this. The list of things you'd rather she not know about him is longer than the list of things you can share. "Uh... he likes music."

Sasha rolls her eyes. "Come on, everyone likes music."

"He likes jazz and blues," you concede. "He's good at telling jokes."

"Dirty jokes?" Sasha says, perking up a bit.

"No... at least, not that he's told me. Here... What do all the great opera singers have in common?"

"I dunno, what?"

"They're all dead."

This does make her giggle; she's about as big a fan of opera as Sans is. "I'm starting to like this guy. What else can you tell me?"

"Well... he gave me the perfume I'm wearing." 

You hold your wrist to her nose, and she sniffs, then shakes her head. "I can't really smell it."

"It's jasmine. It reminds me of our family's garden..."

"Does he know you're from up here?"

"No! No, certainly not." Somehow you fear Sans couldn't look at you the same way if he knew, and you're hoping to put off that conversation as long as you can. You're an urban legend, your identity would be news if it was made public... he might think of you as a liability. He might be offended that you're taking his money to a place where he and other monsters are forbidden to go, giving it to people who might use it to pay for monsters to be kidnapped. Monster fighting is associated more with the Courtyard than with the Concourse, but that doesn't mean the practice hasn't filtered over to the Concourse... or that Sans would give a damn which side his money is going to. He might wonder if deep down, you too share the Courtyard view of monsters... that they're animalistic, even demonic aberrations perfectly suited to kill for sport. You think you could at least defend yourself against that charge, given what you did at that party nine years ago. Of course, he wouldn't necessarily believe such an improbable story...

"What does he look like?"

"Er, well... Short... Bald... He's, uh, big-boned..."

She smirks. "You mean he's fat."

"Uh..." Sure, that works. "He looks good in a suit... He's always grinning..." Because that's his skull's default expression, although you're not going to add that detail. 

"How short?"

"Well, maybe... I dunno, here?" you say, lifting your hand to about his height.

Her eyes widen as they follow your hand, and she snickers. "Does he need a stepstool to kiss you?"

"Really, Sasha."

"What does he do?"

"Uh... well, he says he's a freelancer..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm... not actually sure."

"You mean you don't have any idea how he got to be so loaded?"

You grimace. Sasha's good opinion of Sans is going to evaporate if she understands he's associated with the gangs of New Ebott. Getting dragged into the middle of a gang war, then fleeing a house with three corpses in it tends to have an effect on a person.

She gives you a funny look. "What are you being so dodgy for? He's not the Prime Minister or something, is he? No, Hayes is a total beanpole..." Her eyes widen. "He's a gangster?" She glowers at you, looking very much like your mother. "Tell me he's not a gangster."

"He's not... exactly... a gangster," you admit. "He's not a member of any of the gangs, and he does... uh... odd jobs."

"'Odd jobs,'" she echoes, raising an eyebrow. "Are we talking, like, robbing banks? Please say it's robbing banks and not whacking people."

"Banks, of course. That's how I met him, when I was going on my crime spree."

She glares at you. "This is _serious_. Do you know how _reckless_ you're being? It's not _like_ you!" You can't help but smile at your impulsive little sister lecturing you on recklessness, and her scowl deepens. "It's _not_ funny. What if he gets you _killed_?"

"He's being incredibly careful to keep it secret," you answer. "He's thought of everything, and he's taking every precaution." And he can teleport. You're not quite ready to have that conversation yet, though.

" _Everyone_ screws up sometime," Sasha says, shaking her head. "Do I need to remind you what happened with Louis?"

"I remember Louis and Marie very well, thank you," you snap.

"And what if he hurts you? This creep probably thinks you're like, his _property_ now or something, and he must have _violent tendencies_ \--"

Anger flares up in you, and you take a deep breath and count to ten before you answer. 

One, it's not like you're doing this for fun! 

Two, she'd probably be dead by now if not for Sans' money! 

Three, Sans isn't like that... you think... 

Four... it's not like you're in _love_ with the guy, that'd be stupid. You're just taking his money... and fantasizing about him sometimes... 

Five... Sasha's only reacting like this because she's worried for you...

Six... and because she probably feels guilty you've prostituted herself for her sake...

Seven... so if you snap back, it's only going to make her feel worse... 

Eight... you're her substitute mother, act like it...

Nine...

Ten.

A little calmer now, you answer "As I told you, I've found him to be a respectful, thoughtful man, and --"

"Yeah, well, you've known him for like a week," Sasha interrupts.

"I know. I can't guarantee that I'm doing the right thing. But..." You shrug. "I think I am. I'm trying."

She ponders all this for a moment, scowling. "Hmph. I want to meet him, if I ever get out of here."

It's the first time in a few months she's thought she might recover, and your heart soars. But she was so sick for so long that even if she does keep improving, she won't be able to leave for some time still. "I, uh... I don't think that would be a good idea." 

"Why not?"

You lean forward. "If he wanted to deal with some woman's family, he'd have found a real girlfriend. He barely knows anything about me... He doesn't even know I have a sister."

"Well, this non-boyfriend of yours oughta know about me. Because if he hurts you, I'm the last thing he's ever gonna _see_."

You sigh. You'd put your money on Sans, but Sasha gets points for optimism. "Don't go borrowing trouble. First off, I can take care of myself. Second, I really do think he's a good guy. He's nicer than a lot of, uh..." Crap. You almost said 'a lot of human men. "... A lot of men I've known."

"A good guy, huh..." Sasha looks critically at you. "Look me in the eye and tell me you believe he's never killed anyone." 

Not only do you think he has, you also still wonder if he's ever stolen someone's soul... which is _definitely_ not a detail you intend to share with Sasha. No, you can't pretend you don't know what kind of money you're taking. And not only do you care less than you should, you have to admit that being with someone dangerous actually turns you on... which is an unsettling fact to know about yourself.

She grimaces, looking at your expression. "See? You're not even _trying_ to deny it. You're involved with someone _murdery_ and you're calling him a _good guy_."

"'Involved' is a stretch. I told you, it's more like a business arrangement."

She closes her eyes, something deflated about her expression. "Why couldn't there have been a different way to save my life?" she mumbles.

Yeah, you were right. This is all about her guilt. You put your hand over hers. "I knew what I was getting into. I don't regret it."

She looks away, out the window. "I just don't want Stepstool Man hurting you because you wanted to keep me alive."

"Stepstool Man?"

She turns back to you, her expression skeptical. "I'm guessing his name is on a need-to-know basis, right? So, Stepstool Man. Or would you prefer Mr. Short, Fat and Murdery?"

You sigh. "Stepstool Man. Right."

"I still can't believe you're doing something like this with some sort of gangster," she says quietly. "I wondered if it might be... something like that, once you told me the money didn't come from Jerren. But I thought maybe a politician, or some corp guy. Or maybe some rich sleazeball who's obsessed with us or something..." She leans back. "You, with a gangster. Just so you could..." Her voice trails off, and she looks out the window. 

"You're the one who's always threatening to drop out and join one of the gangs."

"Yeah, but you know I'd never actually _do_ it. I haven't forgotten Louis and Marie either." She pauses. "Stepstool Man doesn't carry a gun around you, does he?"

"I told him it wasn't a big deal. I'm getting used to it."

Her face, already distressingly hollow, looks even more wretched. "What do you _mean_ it's not a big deal? You're afraid of guns! Make him leave it at home!"

"Sasha! Quiet!" you hiss. Your life would be so much easier if Sasha's hospital room was magically soundproofed, like Sans did to the apartment.

"Sorry, sorry -- but he _can't_ carry a gun around you!" she whispers.

"It really _isn't_ a big deal," you whisper back. "If I'm going to be dealing with someone... murdery... it's just part of the territory, isn't it? I pretend it's not there. It's all right."

" _You can't be around guns. Tell him to stop_."

You raise your eyebrows. "Is that a prediction?"

She blinks, then frowns. "No... no, it's not."

"Whew."

"But it's not... It's just... uh... I don't know what it is." She shakes her head. "I don't like having guns around you, that's all."

Sasha's never exactly explained how her predictions work, or how it feels for her to have them. It's a relief she hasn't foreseen your death in a shower of bullets, but whatever's worrying her doesn't seem much better. Still, you put on a brave face for her. 

"And you say I'm overprotective of _you_ ," you say, grinning. "I'm the one with the phobia. If I can deal with it, I don't want you to worry about it either."

"But..."

"He's careful about it. Once he realized it scared me he started hiding it from me. I've noticed." 

"But..."

"Look. He's _my_ murdery non-boyfriend. Let me deal with it."

She grimaces, leaning back and closing her eyes. "Fine. But if he does anything to scare you I'm going to show him what _real_ murder is all about." She frowns. "Uh. After I get out of the hospital. That we're paying for with his money."

Well, that went about as well as could be expected, you think grimly as you leave the hospital. The people who protected the two of you after you'd left the surface had been shot to death in a gang war, and it left a mark on both of you. Sasha had been upstairs when it happened, but you'd been right there in the room, so close to your would-be murderer you could have touched him... That you survived is nothing less than a miracle, and there are days when you don't even feel like you should still be alive at all. 

So Sasha isn't Sans' biggest fan. If she actually met him, you're sure she'd like him... once she got past the living skeleton thing... but all she knows of him is that he's rich, dangerous and he wants you as his mistress. At least now she isn't spending hours coming up with increasingly distressing stories about how you got that money; a pulp fiction fan like your sister could no doubt dream up some doozies.

Well, what you're doing might be upsetting to Sasha, but you think it's the right choice... even now that you know more about the man you've sold yourself to, and what he might be capable of. Plus, you'd be lying to yourself if you pretended it hasn't been damn fun to be Sans' human... and that you weren't looking forward to seeing him after your weekend off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm a goofball who wrote a book within a book then summarized it, and hell, half the reason Reader tossed the other book was so that I don't get tempted to write all of _it_ , too. Some parts of "Magical Monsters" may be relevant later on; some sections are just me getting carried away trying to write a semi-coherent book. (So far I haven't planned for anyone to be having a rock baby.) At some point I might post the whole thing, we'll see.
> 
> One note about something you may have noticed in "Magical Monsters": in this universe monster souls have colors, too. I'm aware that in Undertale, monster souls are white across the board; I have no good excuse for diverging from this other than that the first time I wrote a scene where it was relevant, I forgot. Even when I realized my mistake, I decided to keep it as it was, because I liked the scene and I'm a tremendous sucker for colors imbued with meaning. So if you're reading this for my knowledge of Undertale trivia and adherence to canon, I am sorry to disappoint you, and if you're reading for the sex and romance, well, I hope you'll forgive me my fancies. As indicated in "Magical Monsters," canon details about monster souls still hold true in my universe: they're weaker than human souls, they don't persist past death, with the exception of boss monsters' souls, and so on.
> 
> Incidentally, I wrote about two-thirds of "Magical Monsters" on my phone in a jury assembly room (I wasn't actually picked this time around). That beats my previous strangest place I've written skeleton porn, which was the meeting room of a Lutheran church...
> 
> In this chapter I introduce Remembrance Day. That's both a holiday and a shoutout to my fantastic beta reader [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), who wrote a recently completed story called [Remembrance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5733991/chapters/13212799). If you like APJFM, you owe her deep gratitude (and maybe some time spent looking at her stories and writing comments). When she started reading my first draft, it was a collection of sex scenes and fluff strung together with the lightest wisp of a plot line: New Ebott was a blank slate, I really had no conception of who Reader was or how she thought, I literally didn't know anything about what happened to her family other than that it was some sort of scandal and although I knew exactly what Sasha was like she only had a couple of scenes where she actually got to talk. The background stuff may not be as thrilling for those of you who are just here for Sans, but it's crucial to the story and peonylanterns has been invaluable in making it work.
> 
> Three non-explicit chapters in a row... my God, what am I doing with my life? Come back next time for sex... and some answers to a few of Reader's questions. Give me another 2-3 weeks for chapter 13.
> 
> Here's a [calendar of events to chapter 12](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/156678314710/apjfm-chapter-12-calendar).
> 
> As always, visit <http://neroli9.tumblr.com/> for status updates, interesting questions readers ask and Sans fanart.


	13. two ticklish patellas (explicit)

Did Sans reply to what you wrote earlier? You've been consumed by curiosity all day. When you get back underground, you go straight back to the apartment, where you go straight for the notebook. You're rewarded by a few new lines of writing.

\- thanks, kid.

\- sorry for subjecting you to that drunken rambling bullshit. but i'm glad you understand that whatever fucked-up things i might say or do to you in bed, it only works for me because you're happy too. 

\- i don't expect to be there tomorrow, tuesday is more likely. enjoy your reading.

It's dated yesterday, so you probably won't see him until tomorrow. Aww... After your weekend off, you'd hoped he'd be a little more excited than _that_ about his next chance to see you again. You content yourself with re-reading the messages the two of you had exchanged.

For someone who paid all this money to get precisely what he wanted, it's clear he's less than comfortable with his own desires. How long has he been looking for the perfect human woman, someone who he could feel comfortable degrading and dominating because he was certain she wanted it as much as he wanted to do it? And even now he's found what he's been looking for, his own feelings about it seem to have taken him by surprise.

So you've sold yourself to the most notorious monster in New Ebott... and it turns out he has a human fetish, a goofy streak a mile wide and some damned complicated emotional fault lines. Your murdery non-boyfriend is really quite a guy, you think with an indulgent smile as you read over the exchange of messages again.

You're two hours early, which means you'll be hanging out here for a long time. You burn up some time by turning on the radio and practicing some dance steps. Next, you read for a while, then make yourself a snack and do some idle sketching. You end up doodling some ideas for your next evening dress. As you sketch out different necklines and sleeves, you find yourself wondering which ones Sans would like best? Like he'd care... he bought you so he could see you with your clothes _off_ , and he's hardly going to take you out dancing any time soon... Still, you keep picturing yourself gliding around the dance floor with him, wearing an increasingly elaborate series of dresses.

Sans teleports in a half hour before it's time for you to leave. His appearance takes you by surprise, and you jump, fumbling your pencil. Although you're happy to see him, a quick, treacherous thought flits through your mind. That book had warned anyone who met this man to treat him as if he has a gun pointed at their head... 

No. That book was garbage. And whatever Sans is like out there, he's always been good to you.

He grins as he takes off his hat and coat. "startled ya, did i?"

"I thought you weren't coming today!" 

"uh, well..." His voice trails off as he goes to the closet, blocking your view with the door as he takes off his jacket and holster.

* _i wasn't intending to. i wound up so busy today that i probably shouldn't have._

* _but i kept thinking... the month is probably going to reset again anyway. she's there, just waiting to get fucked. and the weekend felt like a hell of a long time._

* _kind of unsettling, actually. i thought this arrangement would take the edge off my sex drive, not sharpen it. and i didn't mean to wind up with any sort of connection with the girl whose body i bought._

* _i expected that fucking her would always feel more distant, because she's human. to a monster, sex with humans feels inherently more carnal and less intimate than sex with other monsters, because our sex isn't just about physical intimacy. it literally combines our magic, an expression of our souls. so to me, fucking a human usually just feels like using someone's body to get off._

* _but even still, something as intense as what we did last time... she's right. there's no way it could have happened without some level of mutual vulnerability._

* _i'm not used to that._

* _but there's really no need for me to feel this shaken. after all, the whole point of this arrangement is that it's entirely on my terms. i spent a hell of a lot of money and time on this woman and this apartment so for once in my damn life i could feel relaxed, satisfied and who knows, perhaps vulnerable..._

* _all without losing control of the situation._

He shrugs as he re-emerges, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. "i rearranged my priorities a bit. sorry my timing's so crappy... you're only supposed to be here another half hour, yeah?"

"That's enough time," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Though I'm not ready --"

"i don't fuckin' care," he answers with a grin. "you look hot to me right now. c'mere." He holds his arms out to you, and you go to him, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing the top of his skull. He makes a low, content noise and presses you to him.

* _it's true i find myself infatuated with her. but it's not like there's any chance of her reciprocating, after all._

* _i've seen the pattern play out with dozens of the humans i've worked with. they fall for chorus girls, strippers, call girls, one pretty face after another. they pay the women's bills, shower them with presents, take them to fancy places. but every time, they're surprised to find that no matter how much the gals laugh at their jokes and play to their egos..._

* _turns out the women have lives and minds of their own, and sleazy gangsters with nothing to offer but money are not actually what they consider an ideal man._

* _time and time again, i see human men attempt to buy someone's soul and fail. but the very thing that they want out of those relationships is just what i want to avoid._

* _she's a call girl... she understands what this is all about. she might like me well enough, but she won't want anything more out of this arrangement than we've agreed on._

* _not with someone like me._

* _in the end, it's not as if any of it actually matters. it probably won't be long before i meet her again for the first time. and even if the timeline continues on into october, sooner or later, we'll still forget all about each other._

* _so as long as i'm stuck in this shitty timeline, what's the harm of indulging myself by buying some fun nights with a nice girl?_

* _why not, when no matter how many thousands of lifetimes i live and relive, i can never have something like this for real?_

He presses his face to your neck. "god you smell good," he mumbles. You giggle as he picks you up, carrying you over to the bedroom. He's short enough that it gives you a disorienting feeling of being a little too low to the ground, and you squeeze your eyes shut and hide your face against his chest. But he really _is_ strong, you think to yourself admiringly. It's odd to think of it as a product of his magic, as opposed to physical strength. If he was feeling depressed, would it be harder for him to pick you up? Now's not the time to ask, you think to yourself with a smile as he tosses you lightly onto the mattress. 

"just a quickie today, but that's enough for me. how d'ya wanna take my cum today, girl?"

"Please fuck me..."

"and?"

"And slap me again too..."

His grin is wicked. "thought so. now strip." You peel off your dress, slip and bra, but he pushes you flat onto the bed before you can get any further, leaving you in your underwear and stockings. He straddles your waist, undoing his pants. "suck on my fingers while i'm putting myself together," he orders, pushing the tip of his index finger up against your lips. You open your mouth, tightening your lips around it and licking the bones. Now that's an interesting sensation, you think to yourself as you feel the places where his finger bones join with your tongue. Not only is it a little disconcerting to be sucking on bone instead of squishy fingers, the spaces between the bones have a subtle tingly feeling which shimmers over your tongue. That must be his magic holding him together? You're reminded of a passage from Magical Monsters, the upshot of which -- at least in your opinion as a human -- is that bodies made of magic make no damn sense. Still, he seems to be enjoying the sensation as much as a human would, and his reaction turns you on. Sure, you could get used to this.

He groans as he forms his cock over his palm. He leans over you, sliding three more fingers into your mouth and holding his thumb under your chin. With his hand holding your jaw like this he has total control over you, and the casual dominance of the move makes you tense up and sets your heart racing. You make eye contact as he holds your head firmly in place. "i just can't believe what a pathetic, panting little bitch you are. you'll do whatever i say, won't you?"

You nod slightly, gazing up at him.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, then holds his hand up in front of him, forming a cushion of blue magic over the bones. You squirm underneath him, and he chuckles. "just watching me get ready gets ya going, huh?"

"I've been waiting for this all day," you whisper. All weekend might be more accurate, you have to admit to yourself.

The spots of light in his eye sockets brighten. "have you, now? well, then... brace yourself, little human."

He leans over you, running his fingers down your cheeks on both sides of your face. The hand he's padded with magic feels light over your skin, while his unpadded fingertips on the other side press into you. He straightens up and places one hand on your shoulder, raising his other hand to you. You close your eyes for a second, before remembering that he likes for you to watch. You open them again and he chuckles. "good girl." 

He brings his hand down sharply, and you cry out, feeling a shock of pain and arousal surge through your body as you flinch away from him. He caresses the cheek he struck, and you turn your head back to his hand and kiss it. He forces his fingers in your mouth again, and you make little whimpering noises as you suck on them. The magic surrounding them feels tingly on your tongue, and you lick between each finger, squirming underneath him.

His other hand tightens on your shoulder, and he grins maliciously at you. "so, lemme see if i got this straight. what my whore likes is when i hurt her--" He pulls his hand away from your mouth, then strikes your cheek again, making you flinch and whimper. "--and then pet her a bit." He lays his other hand lightly on your cheek, lightly stroking it.

You close your eyes, nuzzling his hand. "I love it," you gasp.

He growls in approval. "gotta _hand_ it to you, kid, that's pretty fucked-up. and believe me, i'm gonna USE it." He holds your jaw in his hand, his thumb pressing into one cheek and his fingers pressing into the other. "now look at me." You open your eyes again to find him leaning over you, smiling as he studies you up close. The cruel expression on his face both frightens and arouses you, and you feel a slick, tight sensation in your vulva, making you writhe underneath him. "god. what a pretty human i bought."

"Thank you," you whisper, keeping your eyes raised to his.

His fingers tighten over your jaw. "thank you, WHAT?"

"Thank you, master," you say quickly.

He lets go of you and pats your cheek. "better. now, keep your eyes closed for this next part, sweetheart. i want you to brace yourself... because it's gonna hurt."

"Yes, master," you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut and reaching for his leg bones. You grasp them through the fabric of his pants, your body tensing up. 

He traces the lines of your face with one finger. Unpadded by any magic, the tip of his finger presses painfully against your skin. You swallow and tense up as his hand moves away, preparing yourself for a slap. But the slap doesn't come. Instead, his hand smooths down your hair as he chuckles. "oh, i LIKE this. that look on your face, as you wait to find out just how much of a sadist i really am... it's beautiful."

You involuntarily open your eyes, blinking up at him. Too late, you realize your mistake, and you close them again before the slap lands on the side of your face. You flinch away, turning your head to the side and whimpering. He gathers a section of your hair at the back of your head, holding it near the roots. "did i say you could open your eyes, girl?" 

"No, master," you whisper, tensing up.

He yanks on your hair, and you brace the side of your head against his arm bones as he prepares to slap you. You gasp and tremble as the first one lands, stinging your cheek, and you hear him chuckle. Quick, light strikes start to shower down on you relentlessly, and your body goes limp as you start to wail. Individually the slaps don't hurt all that much, but he's slapping sharply and quickly, and the pain at the back of your head splits your focus. Altogether, the effect is overwhelming, fragmenting your thoughts. It hurts -- it feels so good -- he could _really_ hurt you -- you want to make him happy -- no one could hear you if you scream... Every time he strikes you, you gasp and cry out, feeling increasingly weak and disconnected. "that's right," he snarls. "take it."

Although part of you is incredibly aroused by the way Sans is forcing you into submission and by the rush of pain and erotic energy all through your body that follows each strike, you also feel yourself starting to panic as the slaps continue. This man is dangerous, you realize as another strike lands, and a rush of terror goes all through you. He hates humans -- he hurts them -- and he's really going to hurt you! Your body starts to shake, and tears come to your eyes as you cringe away from yet another slap. You let go of his legs and try to turn away, hiding your face with your hands and making a low, incoherent moan. 

There's a pause, then he takes your wrists and pulls them away from your face, pinning them to the bed to each side of your head. "open your eyes." You blink up at him, feeling dazed and terrified. He leers down at you, the spots of light in his eye sockets bright. "am i too much for you?"

"Yes," you whimper.

"good." His hands press down on your wrists. "beg me to stop."

You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away. "Please! Please stop, please..."

He lets go of your wrists, and you sense him leaning over you. He starts kissing your face, holding the side of your face gently with one hand and tenderly pressing his mouth to your stinging cheek and jawline on the other side. "shhh. i'm all done now, sweetheart," he murmurs, stroking your hair and kissing your temple and brow bone. You whimper, your body tense. You're still filled with adrenaline from the onslaught of slaps and the fear, now mingled with deep relief that it's over, that he's not going to _really_ hurt you when he clearly _could_... 

"you're my good girl." His hands encircle your face, and he presses his mouth to your lips as he growls contentedly. You're still shaking, but you start to relax under his touch, resting your hands on his shoulder blades and parting your lips. His tongue slips lightly into your mouth, and he puts one hand on the back of your head, cradling it as he kisses you with unaccustomed gentleness. You whimper as he touches the spot where he'd been pulling your hair, and he runs his hands over it as if he's petting you. "poor little human," he murmurs, kissing your lips, then brushing his mouth in a line over your cheekbone to your temple. You moan in response, both out of pleasure and lingering pain, and he makes a low, contented growl. "you were perfect."

"Really?" you say weakly.

"yes, sweetheart. that was just what your master wanted," he whispers into your ear. A shiver goes through your body at his words as he licks the outside curve of your ear, then nibbles at your earlobe. "and you make the most beautiful sounds when i'm hurting you," he murmurs, cupping your breast in his palm.

Your hands close over his shoulder blades, holding on tightly to the knobs of bone at the tops, and you start kissing his face in return. Your eyes are closed in ecstasy, and your vulva throbs. You've never been so desperate to be filled up by a man's cock, to give yourself wholly to him, and you moan as desire overwhelms you. You thrust your hips up, pressing your belly into his pelvis, and he chuckles. "that really DID work for you, didn't it?"

"It was amazing," you whisper, running one hand down his spine. The intensity brought on by pain and pleasure seems to sharpen all of your senses, and your fingers slide over each bump in his vertebrae.

"just what i wanted to hear," he growls. He climbs off of you, then yanks your underwear down your legs and tosses it to the side. "get on your hands and knees."

You obey immediately, your cheeks tingling as you roll over and assume a submissive position, ass in the air, legs spread, eyes closed in anticipation. He runs one hand over your butt and down the back of your thigh, then gives you a sharp smack on the ass. "damn... just looking at you i can tell how much ya liked that. ya get so red..." You wiggle your ass, and he growls appreciatively, delivering another smack. "you really ARE a natural little whore. and i'm gonna teach you just what you're good for."

"Please, master..."

He holds your hips tightly and pushes the tip of his cock against your labia, then forces it into your cunt, filling you up. You press your ass against him and close your eyes as your body adjusts to his cock, vaginal walls expanding, blood flowing to your vulva. "Oh! Sans, you feel so good," you gasp, spreading your legs even more for him as he sheathes his cock in you. His pelvis bone is uncomfortable against your ass, but as before, the twist of pain only makes the pleasure more intense. 

"too goddamn right i do," he growls. You feel something smooth pushing against your lips, and almost by instinct you part them. You open your eyes, and although you're not surprised to see a disembodied blue cock floating in front of your face, it's still an odd sight. He pulls out as you run your tongue over the tip of his cock. "here's how this is gonna go, girl. i'm gonna fill you with my cum, and you don't even THINK of your own orgasm until tonight when i light you up. you understand me?" 

"Uhm-hum," you mumble, running your tongue all around the ridge. 

His fingers dig into your hips, and he groans. "fuck me. you were MADE to take my cock, weren't ya?" Pleased by eliciting such a reaction, you tease the head some more, making him growl and give your ass a light smack. "that's right, girl, keep it up. this might just be a quickie but i'm getting exactly what i want outta ya. and i just wanna come in ya hard and quick." The tip of his cock pushes up against your slit, and he starts thrusting into you again. "'cause all you're good for is taking my cum, you filthy little human."

You take more of his cock into your mouth and suck harder, pressing your hips up against his pelvis in time with the rhythm of his thrusts. His magic spreads over your legs, then your torso and breasts, tingling and heightening the sensation over your skin. You lift your head up, eyes squeezed shut, and he takes the opportunity to gather your hair at the roots, twining it through his fingers and pulling hard. Your cries are muffled by the cock in your mouth, and it seems to turn him on all the more. He grunts and yanks on your hair again, slamming his cock into you as you squirm underneath him. 

"you like that, don't you? insatiable cunt," he growls. He continues pulling your hair as he leans over you, his ribcage pressing into your back, and grabs one of your breasts, cupping it in his hand and roughly fondling the nipple. You agree, although as you're still sucking his cock and enduring the pain of having your hair pulled, it comes out as nothing more than a series of high-pitched whimpers.

"c'mon, girl. you can suck harder than that." He gives the side of your breast a sharp slap, and you whine and buck underneath him, redoubling your efforts. "ya suck cock better when you're getting fucked," he growls, digging his fingers into your breast. "but sometimes ya forget what you're here for. keep that little tongue moving." He yanks on your hair as you whimper in muffled agreement, then lets go of your breast and grabs your hip. He starts pounding away with renewed vigor while you focus with some difficulty on his cock, sliding your tongue back and forth over the shaft as you suck as hard as you can. You're rewarded with a guttural growl of satisfaction. "that's better, whore."

He lets go of your hair and you slump forward, your chin and chest pushed down into the mattress. He slams his cock into you again and again, his hands moving all over your back, hips and thighs. He's really losing himself in it now, you can tell. You're all the more turned on by being used with such abandon, and you feel as if you're opening up to him, preparing yourself to take his cum. He grunts while he fucks you, growling "oh yeah" as his hands slide back to your hips, using them to brace himself. His fingers dig into your flesh, making you cry out, and he responds to your pain with a rough growl and deeper, faster thrusts.

"oh god, i'm gonna come so hard, you stupid... little... slut," he growls as he pulls your hips to him, pumping you full of his cum. Your mouth fills up with his magic at the same time, and you keep sucking on the cock in your mouth until it vanishes along with the one in your cunt. He exhales and collapses back onto the bed, his bones rattling, and you swallow his cum and let yourself slump onto your belly, resting your head on the pillow. Your cheeks sting, your scalp aches and there's probably bruises on your hips, considering how hard he was digging his fingers into you. Your cunt feels swollen and puffy, slick with his cum and throbbing with need, and your jaw is tired after all that sucking. You're so desperate for release that you can barely think, and you whimper, but he makes no response.

Sans reaches for you after a few minutes of complete insensibility, rolling you onto your side so he's spooning you. He slides one arm underneath your neck, holding you around your shoulders and collarbone, and his other hand drifts down to your belly, giving it a pat. Unbearably horny now, you grind your ass against his pelvis, squirming and making plaintive little noises. He chuckles as his fingers slide down to your mons and wind through your pubic hair. 

"Sans, _please_..." If he likes to hear you beg, the desperation in your voice now must be a real treat for him.

"please... do this?" he says absently, running the tip of one finger over your slit, careful not to penetrate you. You arch your back and squirm around, hitching your leg over his and offering yourself to him. He barely brushes his fingers against your outer labia.

"Master..." you whimper. You buck and grind against him, moaning as you try to impale yourself on his fingers. 

"yes, sweetheart? somethin' ya want?"

" _Please_ let me come, master," you beg, pressing your flesh up hard against his bones.

"oh, THAT'S what all this wiggling's for. lemme think 'bout it... no."

Your answer is a incoherent mewling noise, and he laughs, the sound low and satisfied. "my insatiable little human," he murmurs, lightly stroking your mons. The way he says it sounds almost affectionate, and a burst of arousal spreads through your belly. You whimper and move your hand towards your vulva, but he gives it a light smack, then holds it over your hipbone. "don'tcha dare, girl," he mumbles. "don't forget i own ya. and i said not 'til tonight."

You growl. "You're _cruel_." 

He chuckles. "ya saying it's _monstrous_ of me?" You groan without thinking about it, then immediately feel tense. Are you going to offend him if you don't giggle at all of his puns? But he seems just as content with this reaction, chuckling some more as he rests his head against the back of your neck and strokes your shoulder. Every time he touches you makes you feel all the more horny, and you're so unsatisfied that you whimper and squirm around in his arms. But the noise he makes is contented, and you grumble at him. This just makes him laugh. "awwww. poor girlie thinks it's her turn? i told ya, don't even think about it. i wanna feel you coming as my magic lights up your blood." 

"This is no fair."

"hmm. and here i thought i was being so nice, letting ya come in a few hours. you want i should make you wait 'til tomorrow?"

Your response to this is a strangled squeal, and he chuckles. "that sounds fun, actually. forbid you from getting off, then light you up. twenty-four hours of that, and you'd be jumping my bones when i show up..."

If you threw a pillow at him right now, would it have enough malicious intent to hurt him? You'd better not test that. You growl, and he laughs. "tonight sounds good after all, doesn't it?"

"Tonight sounds _fantastic_ ," you say dryly.

"thought you might say that. see? i'm being VERY fair."

You grumble, but you don't complain further. Part of you is wondering why you had to go and do a damn fool thing like sell yourself to a guy who's into orgasm denial... and part of you rather appreciates that he doesn't give in to you that easily.

Sans gives your hand a pat, then untangles himself from you. He sits up and stretches, making his bones rattle. "well. that was a hell of a quickie, kid. now, how'm i doing on time?" 

"Uh... Honestly, don't worry about it," you say, turning towards him and looking up at him. 

"whaddya mean, don't worry?"

"I mean..." You pause. This might not be the most professional proposal, but... considering how much he's paying you, you can't help but feel that it's only fair. "Consider the four to seven thing more of a guideline. If you never show up during that time, I'll leave at seven, but if you do come, feel free to keep me as late as you want."

He frowns, looking curiously at you. "you sure about that? i know you gotta get home and all..."

"I'll probably just stay overnight tonight, anyway."

* _again? she probably lives alone... because if there's someone specific she's hiding this from, they either don't live with her or they're really fucking gullible._

* _doesn't necessarily rule out her having a kid... they could be in the hospital with whitepox. that'd make sense... she wouldn't want to go home, be reminded of them..._

* _well, not like any of it is really my business._

"alright. i'll be taking ya up on that, then, starting tonight. even a quickie like that is pretty fuckin' great but..."

* _i like relaxing with her, too._

"i like to relax a bit, too."

"Me too," you say as you curl up, smiling. 

He looks over at you and smirks. "so. you liked that little bit with the slappin' and the pettin'?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

"just like to hear you say it." 

"It was hot as hell," you say, shivering.

"you're gonna regret telling me that little detail about yourself," he says, grinning at you with exaggerated menace. "think i can have a lot of fun with that." 

"You liked it too... right?" 

"every fucking second," he says, looking down at you.

But which did he like more? The part where he hurt you... or the part where he comforted you and told you you were perfect? It's all part of the same game, you remind yourself. The pain and fear made it all the more intense when he soothed you and brought you back from the edge he'd driven you to. It's not that he actually thinks you're perfect... it's that you played your role perfectly. 

His expression softens, and he runs his hand over your forehead. "i really had ya worried for a minute there, didn't i?"

"Yeah... I was all right, though."

"good." He pauses. "i know it feels harsh, but i'm actually being careful with you. gotta stay away from this part here-- " He traces a circle around your ear. "--and here." He traces a second circle around your eye, and you shiver. "if you ever feel your ears ringing, i'm fucking up. and i want you to let me know."

"I'll remember that..."

The two of you lapse into silence, and he starts playing with a lock of your hair, winding it around his finger.

* _well, if the month restarted right now, i can't say this would be a bad way to go. a pretty human next to me, my soul content._

* _according to my readouts of the anomaly's activity, during the current timeline, we've completely restarted this september four times now. but we haven't once seen october first..._

* _the previous iteration of the month lasted a damned long time, in terms of total time reset away... the readouts for that period of time were a tangled, torturous mess that made me deeply grateful i don't retain memories of any of it. i can't imagine trying to keep that shit straight the way the anomaly presumably does._

* _but in terms of days passed, that iteration didn't make it this far. today's the 25th, and the last time the month reset was on the 23rd... so taking all of the resets of this month into account, this is only the third time we've hit this day._

* _although the past couple days have been repeated a hell of a lot, this time around... wonder what the data will say about today, when i check it tonight?_

* _i spent a lot of time this weekend analyzing the patterns, but as always, i can't make sense of them. best theory i've got is my usual one -- that the anomaly particularly wants some damn thing, given the multiple resets to the beginning of the month and the elevated activity in this iteration and the previous one._

* _i've only seen the anomaly once that i retain in memory, so i don't know if the anomaly has a consistent form or if it possessed or impersonated a human for the occasion. but when i saw it, it had a determination soul. and i hypothesize that its soul is a permanent trait, because it experiences recurring time in what is presumably a linear way, yet is capable of enduring what must be excruciating monotony just to achieve some purpose._

* _that is to say, if it wants something badly enough, it'll put itself through experiencing the same period of time repeatedly just to get it. which sure sounds like a red soul to me._

* _still, what the hell might such an entity want? this iteration has outlasted the previous one... does that mean it achieved its goal? or will it give up any second, take us back to september first and try again?_

* _the first time around, did i rush into this arrangement like i did in this timeline? it's probable that when i look at my data and see that i've actually lived through a given iteration multiple times, it makes me more reckless than i would have been otherwise._

* _did i show up here on this day in earlier iterations of the month, or was it just this time... because i'm thinking it'll be september first any minute now and it really doesn't matter if i blow off the humans i was supposed to meet with?_

* _if we've done this before, did i fuck her and leave? or did I take her up on her offer to stay then too, seeking some comfort after a weekend spent thinking too much about all this shit?_

Sans seems pensive; _too_ pensive, perhaps, more pensive than a man has any right to look when he's in bed with a beautiful, naked woman like yourself. You trace one finger down his thigh bone, then slide it over the groove between the bone and the bone that forms his kneecap. 

He twitches and his knee jerks away from your touch. Your eyes widen. "Oh! You _are_ ticklish!" Having discovered this delightful fact, you press your advantage, running your fingers lightly along the groove.

He catches your hand and holds it in place, although he's smiling. "easy on the patella, sweetheart."

"On the what?"

"this bone right here. the patella." He taps his kneecap.

"The patella... You have a _ticklish patella_ ," you repeat, your eyes lighting up. Although he's holding your hand, he can't entirely immobilize your fingers, and you wiggle the tips just out of reach of the bone, beaming up at him mischievously. "You probably have _two ticklish patellas_..." You sit up and try to reach for the other one.

* _god she's a great distraction._

He catches your other hand by the wrist, grinning as you struggle to reach his knees. "gimme a break, kid, i just came. d'ya WANT me to fall apart?"

You giggle, waggling your fingers. "You're not _really_ going to fall apart! Come on, let me try!"

He releases your hands, leaning back against the headboard and smiling indulgently. "alright, alright."

You tickle both of his knees at once, and he squirms and laughs, clutching the sheets with both hands as his bones start to rattle. The relaxed, pleased look on his face is much better than that pensive one, you decide with satisfaction as you experiment with different kinds of touch. The backs of his knees don't make him respond at all, and the flat surface of the bone only provokes a slight reaction. The most rewarding spot seems to be right along the top and bottom edges of the patella where the kneecap slides over the leg bones, and you concentrate your efforts there. This makes him curl up and try to protect his knees, twitching and gasping for breath as he laughs and tries to avoid your persistent fingers.

He catches you by the wrists, gently moving your hands away from his knees. "'s all i can take," he gasps, his bones rattling loudly now. You beam at him, and he smiles back.

* _well, if the month DOES reset, then at least she'll be just as happy the next time she figures out my patellas are ticklish._

* _odd to think that in the span of a couple of weeks, she's gone from being intimidated by my body to searching out my weak points with such delight. i knew she had a playful side, but i hardly expected she'd be this comfortable with me by now, when i made her that proposal._

* _turns out my human is a hell of a gal, isn't she?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting this chapter into two parts. So Chapter 13 is the sex, and Chapter 14 is basically Chapter 13, part 2: after the sex. Is this going to happen every time these two get in bed? 
> 
> Sans references some injuries that can happen with slapping: hit someone too close to the eyes and it can detach a retina, too close to the ear and it can injure the eardrum. If this kind of impact play turns you on, please be aware of the risks and read up on it.
> 
> I estimate Chapter 14 will be up in another couple of weeks. Visit my tumblr for status updates and so on: [neroli9.tumblr.com](neroli9.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's the [calendar up to chapter 13](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/157615130120/apjfm-chapter-13-calendar).
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for beta-reading for me! The ending of this chapter, as well as other bits, is a whole lot better because she got a look at it first :)


	14. a soul as pretty as my brother's (explicit)

You give your fingers one more wiggle, but the game of tickling Sans' patellas is clearly over. You sigh and let your hands go limp. "All right, all right, no more tickling. For now."

"little minx," Sans answers with a grin. He lets go of your wrists, then stands up and starts stripping off the rest of his clothes. "hell, long as i'm relaxing, where's that robe?"

"In the closet."

He stretches before going into the closet and looking for the robe. It feels a little odd to be ogling a skeleton, but there's something interesting about the way his spine moves. Somehow you doubt his freelancing jobs include being a figure model, but art students all over New Ebott would no doubt jump at the chance to practice drawing a perfectly poseable, living skeleton. You wouldn't mind that yourself, and in your mind's eye you put him through an increasingly lewd series of poses.

He locates the robe, slips it over his shoulders then ties the sash around his pelvis. He poses for you with his arms out to the sides. "how's it look?"

Oh, he really _could_ be a figure model! "Much better," you say, giggling as he strikes another pose with one hand on the back of his head and the other on his pelvis.

"you want yours?" he says, taking your robe off of its hanger and wiggling it at you. "lookin' a little chilly there, sweetheart."

He's eyeing your chest with a lascivious grin; sure enough, your nipples are still hard. "Please," you say, sitting up. He tosses the robe over to you and watches you roll off your stockings. Shoot, there's a hole under the arm you hadn't noticed. Please don't let him notice it either, you pray as you wrap it around yourself, tie the sash around your waist and lay back down. 

* _everything i'm paying her, and she's still wearing something that old? makes me feel overdressed._

He rejoins you on the bed, leaning against the pillows and headboard and looking down at you with a grin. "question for ya, kid. what's the difference between a piano, tuna and glue?"

"Uh... what?"

"you can tune a piano. but ya just can't piano a tuna."

You giggle, then blink and say "What about the glue?"

"ah-hah!" He touches the tip of his finger to your nose, grinning. "i KNEW you'd get stuck on that part." You laugh at this, and he leans back, smiling. "so. didja get a chance to read that book?"

"Of course!" you say, beaming. "Thank you so much for getting it for me! And thank you for the sketchbook and colored pencils, too!" 

"you liked all that stuff?" he says, sounding almost shy.

"The book was so helpful, and adorable too! And it's been great to do some sketching..."

"then c'mere and thank me properly," he says with a wink. 

You get to your knees and give him a big hug, kissing him on the cheekbone. "You're so sweet, Sans!"

He looks pleased, but also embarrassed. "'s more like it. here." He pats his lap and you lay back down, resting your head on his legs. One ulterior motive you had in selecting his robe was finding one with nice, thick fabric, and it's much more comfy to rest on him when he's wearing it. You've considered asking him to pad his bones with his magic, like he does with his hand... but what if that made him feel like you were repulsed by his body? You'd decided against it in the end. 

He runs his hand over your hair, then absently starts to play with your earlobe. "so. you think you understand us a little better, now you read that book?"

"A little better, yeah... But there were some parts I wasn't sure if I was understanding right." 

He chuckles. "figured you might have some questions. lay 'em on me, kid."

"Uh, well..." Might as well get straight to what's been troubling you the most. "I think I'm missing something about how souls work," you say tentatively. "Monster and human souls, I mean. And, uh, if I _am_ understanding it right... um... it sounded like, well... it made me kind of worried..." You turn your head to look up at him, wondering how to word your question. You certainly don't want to remind him of how his brother was killed by a human. "Because it wasn't completely clear, I think because the author didn't want to scare anyone, but it seemed like it was saying that it might not be very hard for a really determined human to kill a monster, and... You work with humans, and you said your job is dangerous... so..."

* _so she's worried about me?_

* _i'd worry too, if i was her and i'd just realized my meal ticket could turn to dust any minute._

* _still..._

He looks down at you, and there's something soft about his expression. 

"so you're wondering if any ol' scrub can take me out of the picture?" You nod, and he shakes his head. "i've been working with humans for 'bout four years, and pissin' some of them off pretty good, i might add. think i'd still be here if it was that easy to kill me?"

"No, but... It sounded like... the important thing was the intent, because human souls are supposed to be so strong, right? So..." Your voice drops to a near-whisper. "If a human wanted with their whole heart and soul to kill a monster, would it really be impossible to stop them?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "well, how to put this... generally speaking? it would be. in my case? eh, it's a little more complicated."

Huh. Well, one of the first things you learned about this guy was that he was somehow different from most monsters. Still, you wonder what exactly "a little more complicated" could mean.

He continues, "i mean, yeah. you're understanding the book right. and i am a monster. i'm still vulnerable to that level of killer intent. but i've got a couple tricks up my sleeve that even things out." His voice is gentle as he continues "i try not to let things get that far, but i've been faced with situations where i can't avoid a fight. i've always dealt with it."

* _i kill the other guy first._

"So... I shouldn't worry about you?"

"well. i don't mind ya worryin' about me a little bit," he says with a grin. "but honestly, don't waste your energy. what else did'ja want to know?"

Plenty of questions come to mind. Why do they call him Dead Eyes? Has he ever absorbed a soul? If humans are so dangerous to monsters, why does he take the risk of working with them? Was his brother a rock? Rein in your curiosity, you chide yourself. Those questions are far too personal, and you don't want to offend him. You'd like to ask him what Remembrance Day is all about, but as you suspect it's to memorialize monsters killed by humans, and his brother belongs to that group, you opt for some lighter questions instead.

"Do you like puzzles too? I noticed you finished my crossword the other day..."

He shrugs. "eh. sometimes."

* _used to._

"Which ones do you like most?"

"crosswords, i guess. but i don't really have the time anymore."

"Aw. It sounded like monsters were all crazy about puzzles... And art, too, I loved the idea of using magic to make art. Do you do that?"

Again, he shrugs. "not really."

* _not anymore._

"Oh," you say, your face falling as your hopes of a personal magic display are dashed. 

"told ya last time, i'm an odd duck," he says with a wry smile.

That other book _had_ claimed that other monsters were creeped out by skeleton monsters, and that Sans specifically was unpopular among his own species because of his freelancing. You're dying to know if either of those things are true, but you wouldn't be so tactless as to ask him. "Does anything I learned about monsters apply to you?"

* _not everything. but still rather a lot._

* _persistent negative feelings affect me just like they do other monsters. there's only been one time in my life where my soul's truly been at peace... and it was such a long time ago, i don't even remember what it feels like to have my body and magic working at their best._

* _i have a memento with my brother's essence in it. it's the book about puzzle creation i got him when he wanted to join the guard. we worked through it together, every night. at his funeral i sifted his essence through my fingers, then spread it over the book, wondering how often i'd seen it disappear into pages covered with our notes._

* _there's a lot of humans who think of monsters as demonic, just because of our capabilities and appearances. most monsters consider this highly offensive. i find ways to turn it to my advantage._

He ponders this, then shrugs. "sure. i'll turn to dust when i die, too. a pretty pile of blue glitter."

You shiver. You'd known that fact about monsters already; it was about the only thing you had known, before you started working for Muffet. "You just told me not to worry about you. Don't talk about dying." You pause. "Your soul is blue? For... integrity, right?"

* _seems funny telling that to the human i bought._

* _she's probably thinking, 'sure, sans, pull the other one. it's got bells on.'_

He shrugs. "yeah." He looks down at you. "wonder what color yours is."

"I was wondering too..."

He looks searchingly at you.

* _i probably shouldn't do this._

"we can see, if you let me draw it out."

You cringe, remembering the client who threatened you and the accounts of the monster hunters who were so frightened by their first experience with having their soul drawn out. "Uh... it wouldn't... hurt, would it?"

* _wonder if she's just thinking of that dirty creep, or if that means she's read that other book by now?_

* _well, not only has she not broken the deal, she's expanded it by letting me spend some extra time here. so if she has, that's a good sign she didn't put that much stock in the damn thing._

* _still, wonder what she made of it._

"it always feels a little strange, but it won't hurt." He pauses. "just yanking your soul out, or if it got hit by magic, that would hurt. but of course i wouldn't do that to you."

"I know you wouldn't, I just..."

"yeah, i remember. you ran into that one shithead."

You blink. "How'd you know?"

"muffet asked me to have a little conversation with him." He grins at you. "we both knew i'd be taking care of you sooner or later. and i was pissed someone scared you." 

* _doing that favor for muffet softened her towards me. and knowing such a thing had happened to someone i wanted for myself made me jump at the chance to pay that sky-high finders fee she quoted at me a few days later._

* _i think she meant it as a joke._

* _funny to be on the other side of that, for once._

You'd met Sans your first day as a call girl, and the incident with the threatening monster had been on your fourth day. Even that early on, he must have felt that you were his human... and it's gratifying to know that the monster who'd scared you so badly had been forced to deal with an angry Sans. You feel a rush of pleasure, which you try to mask by lightly asking "So were you the one who got my clothes back?"

"yep."

"Thanks," you say with a grin. "I'm really fond of that dress."

"me too," he says, winking. "does good things for ya right 'bout here," he continues, tracing his finger over the swell of your breasts.

The conversation had distracted you from the ache deep within yourself, but the casual, possessive way he touches you brings it right back. You gasp as you feel yourself getting wet all over again. "Master," you whisper, looking beseechingly up at him and giving your eyelashes an optimistic couple of bats.

He makes a low rumbling noise, and his smile is obscenely satisfied. "seriously? just THAT was enough to get this desperate little human all worked up again? let's see." He slips his finger between the front flaps of your robe and slowly trails it between the fabric and over your skin, down to your waist. He makes a show of being stymied by the sash around your waist. "too bad. 's as far as i can go." 

You whimper and hasten to untie the bow, then let the sides of the robe fall, exposing yourself to him. He trails his finger over your belly and around your belly button in a few languid circles. After a few rounds of this teasing you make a low, annoyed sound in the back of your throat, and he chuckles, leaning over to run his finger through your pubic hair. You squirm and thrust your hips up, and he just barely slips the tip of his finger into your vulva, making you cry out. "Oh! Sans, _please_..."

He runs his finger through your vulva slowly and deliberately as you writhe and moan, then thrusts it inside you. You gasp, but before you fully register that he's penetrated you, he pulls it back out. He brings his finger to his mouth, lavishing his tongue over it with relish. "god i love knowing i can make my human THIS wet. that's just how i want you, sweetheart." His finger is damp with his saliva and a lingering trace of the scent of your arousal mingled with his magic as he brings it to your lips, forcing the first two knuckles into your mouth. You suck obediently on it as he continues, "'cause it means you're gonna come so quick for me tonight. at ten o'clock. like i said."

Seriously? You growl and give his finger a tiny nip in protest. He withdraws his finger and lightly slaps your cheek. "bad girl," he scolds, although he can't keep a hint of amusement out of his voice. "no biting your master. now kiss it." He grins down at you as he presses the tip of his finger to your mouth. You make eye contact as you follow his orders, the bone hard against your lips. "that's better." 

He runs his hand over your hair, and you curl up, whimpering in frustration. "I really _did_ sell myself to a sadist, didn't I?"

"afraid so," he says, his voice unbearably smug as he rests his hand on your shoulder.

The two of you are quiet for a minute, although he chuckles and pats your shoulder each time the built-up tension in your body makes you squirm. Finally you say "Thank you for handling things with that guy. That was, uh..." Well, not the most terrifying moment of your life, although it was up there. "He scared me to death."

"poor girl," Sans says in a low voice. "well. i sorted him out for ya."

You shift positions onto your back and smile up at him. "How did the conversation go?"

* _asked around about him. first time he'd pulled a stunt like that, as far as i could find out, and he didn't actually go so far as to do it. so i delivered the news that muffet was blacklisting him._

* _i also offered him a fight, since he was obviously so desperate for one that he was challenging a nice human girl. he knew what it would mean to fight me, and he backed down. told him if i ever heard about him fucking with some poor gal like that again, i'd be back._

* _could be that he gets off on the idea or act of hurting a human's soul. that'd be rare, given the deep, instinctual respect monsters have for souls... but not unknown._

* _i think it's more likely that he has a grudge against humans and he was getting off on taking it out on her. i'm not saying i don't understand the impulse... but that means that monsters as twisted as us have to be more careful, not less._

* _whichever it was, drawing out someone's soul against their will, or even just threatening it... in a situation like that, where she was both innocent and at his mercy, that's an unspeakable violation._

"i delivered the message." Sans shrugs. "but yeah. if you're not comfortable having your soul drawn out..." His voice trails off.

"If it's you, I think I'd like to try it," you say tentatively. "Do you want to do it?"

He perks up. "yes."

You feel tense, but curious, too. You put a hand over your heart. "What do I have to do?"

"here... sit up." 

You sit up, looking over at him. He turns the light on the nightstand off, then scoots right next to you and puts an arm around your waist.

You feel as if something is being drained from your fingers, toes and the top of your head and pulled toward the core of your body. The sensation races through your limbs, down your jaw and throat and up your spine, weakening your belly and making you light-headed. You slump against Sans, gasping. There's a growing warmth in your chest and a strained feeling, as if your soul resists being separated from your body. It doesn't hurt, but it feels _wrong_ \-- like your body is being invaded in a way you didn't even know existed. Should you have agreed to this? You instinctively draw your hands to your chest, pressing down on it.

The warmth ebbs slightly. Sans' arm tightens around your waist, and he reaches out to you, putting his other hand over your hands. "you're safe, kid," he murmurs, his voice low and gentle. "it's okay to be scared. take a deep breath."

You inhale, then exhale. It's Sans doing this to you, and he's not going to do anything bad to you... He's even holding your hand... 

As you relax, the warmth in your chest starts to bloom again. The feeling had seemed alien at first, but something about it now strikes you as erotic. When you lose yourself in sex with Sans you feel like you're opening yourself up, giving yourself over to him, and if you relax you can think of this as a similar sensation. It's as if your body isn't yours anymore, it's his... and you submit to him, ready to accept -- no -- ready to _welcome_ whatever he wants to do to you. 

The strained feeling vanishes, and the warmth seems to swell and burst, leaving your body weak. A green heart is shimmering in front of you, lighting up the dark room. You gasp and your eyes widen as you gaze at it. It's a radiant, pure shade of emerald green, with lighter green tones swirling at its heart and bright, scattered pulses giving it a luminous quality. It's almost jewel-like, but the blurring around the edges makes it seem like a mirage.

You glance at Sans. He's smiling. "green, huh."

"For... kindness, right?"

"'s the usual association."

Your soul seems to pull your focus toward it, and you gaze at it. "It really _is_ more beautiful than I could have imagined..."

"yeah. souls are something special."

"It's... funny, somehow, to have physical confirmation of a personality trait..."

"i've had the same thought." 

Even now that your soul is fully separated from your body, a feeling of unease remains. No, not unease exactly, that feels too negative... It's hard to put your finger on just how to describe the feeling, because you've never felt anything like it before. If anything it's like exposure. Like lying naked in the sun, except the sensation of warmth and freedom is located in your soul, not in your skin, and the thrill and taboo is all the more intense.

As you're trying to decide just what you think of this new feeling, you realize that Sans is still holding your hand. You even unconsciously linked your fingers with his... Your tummy feels like it's flipping around, and a corresponding flare briefly lights up your soul. Was that the sensation of arousal and emotion you just felt in your body, made visible in your soul? It's followed by a second shimmer -- which you think might be the embarrassment you felt when you realized Sans can now see your emotions just as clearly as you feel them. No wonder you feel exposed! You didn't know _that_ would happen... and yet, there's a shimmer all through your soul as you realize just how pleased you are to know that he had wanted to see this part of you, that he was curious about your inner self. Even still you feel awkward, so you let go of his fingers and move your hands away from your chest, ostensibly to gesture at your soul.

"Can I touch it?"

"go ahead." Sans grins at you, and you regard him suspiciously.

"You've got that look. Is it going to feel weird or something?"

"i wouldn't let you do it if it was gonna be bad. go on, see for yourself."

You reach out to your soul, attempting to touch it lightly with one finger. You expect a smooth, polished feeling, but instead your fingertip goes right through it. Although you can't feel any sort of physical presence or resistance from your soul, you do feel a light, comfortable warmth that seems to pass through your skin right into your flesh. A wave of gentle sensation flows through your body, and you close your eyes, breathing deeply and savoring it. You tentatively pass your whole hand through it, and you're rewarded with a feeling of abiding peace.

Sans pats your back. "someone like you... it feels good, doesn't it?" 

"It feels..."

It feels pleasant physically, as if it both relaxes and animates you. But it also seems like a link to the time in your life when you were safe, beloved and happy. Your soul seems to blaze all around your hand as you're reminded of all the time you once spent sitting in your family's garden and sketching, conscious of nothing but the sun on your skin, the beauty around you and the feeling of total immersion into your artwork. You feel like you're remembering those days with your body, experiencing them over again, and tears come to your eyes even as you smile. "It's unbelievable, Sans. How do monsters not get _addicted_ to this?"

He chuckles. "souls are too important to treat lightly. you might even say..." He pauses, weighing his words. "they're sacred."

"I think I understand why..." As wonderful as it is to touch your soul, there's also something intimidating, even frightening, about this sort of communion with a hidden part of yourself. It's so overwhelming that you withdraw your hand, but the feeling of warmth and fulfillment lingers even as you wipe your eyes.

"i thought you'd like it." He studies your soul.

"Would anything happen if someone else touched it?"

The question seems to make him uncomfortable, but he answers, "uh, well, if someone else touched it, they'd know... how it feels to be you. kinda get a sense of how you experience the world."

"Wow, really?" You gesture at it. "Would you like to... uh..." Wait, should you really be offering that? Part of you is rather hoping he'll agree, but part of you feels like this aspect of yourself is far too private to share with someone you've known for all of two weeks.

His eyes widen. "no, no, i wasn't angling for that. for monsters, that's, uh..." His voice trails off, and his expression is awkward.

You've misstepped, you realize, and your soul flickers. "More intimate than sex?" you venture after a moment.

* _well, that too._

* _it also happens to be the first step of a process that ends with your soul bonded to the soul of the one you love, marking them as your mate and changing both of you forever._

"something like that."

"Sorry, I didn't mean --"

"nah. it's just one of those things you know when you're a monster."

* _even just this much is pretty damn intimate. and... yet here i am._

There's probably a lot you're missing... Your book had implied that monster children learned more about souls later in life. Sometime, you should ask Sans about what they learn... but it's hard to concentrate on conversation with your soul pulling your attention toward it.

You regard your soul for a few minutes, fascinated by its beauty and the play of light and color within its depths. All this time, something so beautiful has been within you... You're reminded of the girl you once were, someone who had an innocent idealism, optimism and charm that you'd felt you'd lost. Maybe you're not so far removed from her as you'd thought you were. A feeling of gratitude towards Sans for showing you this part of yourself prompts a warm, soft glow within your soul.

You glance at him. Although he's looking in the direction of your soul, his expression is distant, even troubled. "Is something wrong?"

He blinks. "no, just, uh... just thinking." 

You wait for him to say something else, but he falls silent again. Whatever he's thinking of, he's not sharing it with you. Is it whatever was making him so pensive earlier? You're curious, but you can't exactly press for details... 

* _i shouldn't have done this. i would have felt too awkward to suggest it if she'd have been a monster... if she knew the cultural context._

* _for us, asking to see someone's soul is something you do with someone when there's romantic interest between the two of you, when you think it could lead to something more._

* _it's not anywhere as serious as making a commitment or declaring your love. it's just like saying..._

* _this isn't casual anymore. maybe there's really something here._

* _i met her... hm, a little over two weeks ago. and we've had sex, what is this, five, six times? if this was the start of a normal relationship, it'd be culturally acceptable for us to decide we wanted to see each other's souls by now. a little fast, but not scandalous._

* _but in reality, i'm paying her to let me fuck her. we're not actually together, and i wouldn't call whatever this is 'romantic interest.' on my side, there's lust, curiosity and a desire to temporarily lose myself in an illusion. on hers, she might like me well enough but in the end she's subjecting herself to me for money. if that dried up she'd be gone, and rightfully so._

* _all the same... there IS a connection here. as strange as that feels._

* _i didn't really have any business doing this. if she was a monster, she'd laugh at the idea of showing something so precious to a man who's merely buying her body._

* _but i know damn well i'll never be able to bond with anyone, not in any timeline. outside of a completely different context, i'm never going to get closer than this to anyone's soul, and it's..._

* _it's awe-inspiring. it captivates me, makes me feel humbled and perhaps even scared._

* _i've seen pap's soul, because we'd spar together. and i've seen plenty of human souls, shortly before destroying them. i've even taken them within myself on occasion... seized and subverted a stranger's power, turned their life and will into mere fuel for an attack as what remained of themselves blazed and struggled desperately against me._

* _but this is so different... being this close to the essence of someone i've felt such a powerful attraction toward, learning something new about her nature, seeing the play of her emotions in its depths._

* _knowing she only let me do this because she trusted me... and trying to live up to that trust. i had to work so carefully compared to how i usually draw out a soul, and even that was an intoxicating experience..._

* _sending my magic all through her body to gather it, calming her down and feeling her give in to me so i could draw it out without causing her fear or pain, then laying all of its precious beauty and vulnerability bare._

* _no, i really shouldn't have done this. i have no right to see something this personal... this beautiful. i'm acting possessive of her when i have no real claim on her. and i'm taking advantage of her, just out of curiosity and self-pity._

* _of course, i've been taking advantage of her from the start..._

* _well. she doesn't know. she just thinks it's an interesting thing monsters can do._

As thrilling as it's been to see your soul, you're all the more curious about his, now. "Do I get to see yours?"

This, too, seems to make him uncomfortable. "d'ya really want to?"

Have you misstepped again? How? It's only fair to ask, isn't it? "Uh... if it's all right..."

"well... i suppose there's no harm in it."

* _except that i fear what i'll find there... i fear the look on her face when she sees it._

* _what if after one glance she understands immediately how disgusting i am? what if my soul sickens her?_

* _no... i'm being paranoid._

* _i've changed... i've slipped... but i haven't fallen that far._

"Thank you..."

"better put yours back where it's safe, first..." You feel it slipping back into you, animating you. You shiver, snuggling up to him. "welp. here goes." He closes his eyes and bows his head.

An upside-down ultramarine blue heart forms in front of him, illuminated by a deep, smoldering light. It doesn't seem as bright as yours had been; there's something subdued about it. Well, the book had said that everyone's soul was just a little different, and his seems to suit his laid-back nature. Although somehow you can imagine the light within it blazing when he's in bed with you, using you as he pleases... The idea makes you smile.

He seems resigned as he looks at his soul.

* _do i still deserve that?_

* _a soul as pretty as my brother's?_

"It's beautiful," you whisper. He looks over at you searchingly.

* _pap would have liked her._

There's a flare of light within his soul, and you smile, wondering if it had been pleasure at your compliment that prompted it. But his expression seems troubled, somehow. He looks back over at his soul. "good to know it's still there. back in you go." It vanishes.

"Already?" you protest. "I barely got to see it!"

"sorry," he says, clearly embarrassed. "haven't had it out like that in a while. felt kinda weird." He shrugs. "well. there you have it."

So Sans was willing to keep your soul out for inspection... but he hid his away so soon? You have a sense that you're missing something, and you wish you had a monster friend you could talk all this over with. For a moment you envision a slumber party with Muffet, where you'd spend hours doing each other's nails -- and it really would be hours with her, with forty nails to paint -- and gossiping about Sans' behavior. Alas, you're not actually on such intimate terms with your former employer. You settle for asking Sans what you hope is a less loaded question than "why the hell are you acting so squirrelly?"

"Why was it upside down?"

"y'mean why was YOURS upside down, right?" he answers with a grin. "they're always pointing up like that. it's only humans whose souls get confused 'bout which way is up."

So it's a difference between monster souls and human souls... Was the relative dimness of Sans' soul another indication of the difference? They'd seemed so similar otherwise. Seeing them together like that, you're hard pressed to believe yours is so much stronger than his...

"Thank you," you say, slouching down and resting your head against his ribcage. His arm tightens around you.

* _a green soul, huh. i'd wondered, but... i didn't really know enough about her to guess._

* _i've been thinking of her somewhat generically... as a human call girl with an open mind and an intriguing background._

* _and then her soul turns out to be more beautiful than i had imagined._

* _well. she's a nice gal. only to be expected, right?_

He releases you, then stands up and strips off his robe, tossing it on the bed. "well. maybe i'll show ya some more magic tricks sometime. but for now, i oughta get going," he says as he starts to pull on his clothes. He looks over at you, and his expression is appraising. "thanks for changing the terms of our deal."

"I think it's better that way," you say, shrugging.

* _why? because i'm buying her, and she thinks i should get my money's worth?_

* _or because she doesn't mind spending the time with me?_

"well, ya don't hear me complaining," he says with a wink. "dunno 'bout tomorrow, i'll leave a note if i don't think i can make it." He looks at you, his smile playful. "if i was you, i'd be laying down already when the clock strikes ten."

"Thanks for the advice," you say, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He laughs. "still sore at me for not letting ya come? that makes it even more fun." You scowl and he pats your head. "don't forget, now."

"I did, once..."

His eye sockets widen, and he stops retying his tie to look at you. "seriously? shit. what happened?"

"I was just out too late... I pretended I was sick, and my friend helped me get home," you answer, giggling. 

He chuckles. "y'know, i probably oughta feel guilty about that, but honestly it's the funniest thing i've heard all day. i can just picture it..." He approaches you, holding your chin and tilting it up so you're looking into his eye sockets. "your face flushed..." He lays his other hand over your chest. "your heart racing... your breathing heavy... that sound about right?"

"Uh huh," you answer weakly, turned on all over again by his touch. You just couldn't _take_ it if he starts teasing you _again_...

"your buddies think you're coming down with something, an' they start fussing over you..." You start to squirm as his magic slides over your inner thighs and starts to tease your slit. "and only you know the truth. you're not sick at all." He leans over, sliding his hand from over your heart to the back of your neck and running his tongue over your earlobe and up your ear. He whispers "you're my whore. and i'm getting you worked up from halfway across the city."

You make a high, whiny noise, your body flooding with tension as he teases you. "Don't leave me like this," you whisper, reaching for the crests of his pelvis. You hold on tightly to them over the fabric of his pants as he flicks his tongue on the back of your ear, then down your neck. His magic starts to part your labia, making you grind down onto the bed and grasp his bones even tighter.

"you're bought and paid for, girl," he answers, his voice maddeningly smug. "i'll leave ya however the hell i want. but..." He lets go of your chin and pulls your robe down over your shoulders. It's still untied, and it hangs loosely on your arms, completely exposing your breasts and belly and allowing him full access to your cunt and thighs. "maybe... just maybe... i'll take pity on you."

" _Thank you_ , master," you breathe, leaning forward.

He chuckles. "just this once, mind you." He lavishes his tongue over your collarbone as he cups your breasts in his hands, playing with your nipples. His magic rubs over your clit in a slow, teasing way, and you spread your legs, arching your back and pressing your chest into his hands. He growls, and his magic starts to stimulate your clit in just the way you're longing for, just the way that gets you off the hardest. 

The tension gathers and intensifies, and you moan "Sans... _please_ , Sans..."

"shhh. relax, kid, i know how to take care of you." His low, confident voice turns you on all the more, and you gasp, closing your eyes. He leans over you, putting one hand between your shoulder blades to support your increasingly limp body, and licks and nibbles at your neck as he brings you closer and closer to orgasm. You lose yourself as he takes control, his magic, hands and tongue all working together to give you what you need, and oh God you're so close --

The magic vanishes, and he pulls away from you. You fall back onto the bed with a thump, and he gives your hipbone a pat. "welp. think you've kept me from my work long enough." He turns away from you and starts to tie his tie again, his manner exaggeratedly casual.

You make a high screeching noise, the tension in your body unbearable. " _Again_?! Come _on_ , Sans!"

"told ya twice now. not until ten." He's still got his back to you, but his voice is so self-satisfied that you can practically see the shit-eating grin on his face.

"You are _such_ a _huge jerk_ sometimes!"

Uh oh... should you really be calling your employer a jerk, even in a playful way? But he turns around and leans over you. Sure enough, his grin is obscenely smug. "go ahead and call me a monster. it'll make you feel better."

"You -- you _horrible monster_ ," you gasp.

"god. it's even hotter when you say it like THAT." He chuckles and brushes his fingers over your vulva. You twitch as you turn away from him, curling up and whining pitifully. He winks at you as he pulls his vest back on and straightens it out. "'s for your own good, kid. think you're gonna forget this time?"

"No," you say petulantly, sitting up and glaring at him as he adjusts his watch chain.

"see? just teaching ya a lesson, that's all. y'oughta be thanking me."

"I wasn't going to forget _anyway_ ," you point out, scowling. You sit up, watching him rolling his sleeves back down and fastening the cuffs, and your expression softens. "I love the way you light me up."

He glances up at you, and the dots of light in his eye sockets brighten. "you might even say... it _delights_ you?"

You can't help but giggle. "Yeah, it does." You smile as a response comes to you. "You know, Sans, I'm so glad you turned out to be such a _light_ -hearted kind of guy."

His grin widens. Without missing a beat, he says "i dunno. maybe you're just taking me too _lightly_." You groan, and he pats your head. 

You look up at him, grinning in a way that's probably rather shit-eating too. "I wouldn't say that. Today shed a lot of _light_ on your personality, you know."

He chuckles. "did it now? c'mere." He gives you a kiss, pressing his mouth against your lips. With you still sitting on the bed, he's tall enough to hug you to him and rest his chin on top of your head. 

You rest your head against his chest, closing your eyes. "Thank you for showing me our souls..." 

"thank you for letting me."

* _maybe i shouldn't have done that. but i like knowing it about her._

* _green suits her._

He teleports out and you gasp, falling forwards and catching the bedpost to keep your balance. Well, that's _one_ way to make an exit... This guy is too much, you think as you lay back down on the bed and stretch, your body still tense with unspent energy. And he's got a blue soul... for integrity. Is that unexpected, or appropriate? Integrity, after all, is not generally associated with buying and killing humans... but you're also reminded of his unease with his own desires, and his careful treatment of you. It's also true you don't really _know_ what he does, even if you might have some theories.

And so your soul is green, for kindness... You put a hand over your heart, considering this. You don't feel all that kind, sometimes... If there was a soul color that corresponded to feeling harried, drab and unlucky, that would fit you just right. But you try... You'd felt kinder when you were younger, and you'd like to think that's who you are at heart. Magical Monsters had touched on this, actually, and you return to it, flipping to the pages about souls.

\- Souls all have colors, and everyone's is just a little different. We associate different colors with different personalities, too. Like, my soul is purple, for perseverance, because I keep on trying to do things... like writing this book and drawing all these pictures, even though it's taking me FOREVER. There's also red for determination, light blue for patience, orange for bravery, blue for integrity, green for kindness and yellow for justice. (I don't really get the difference between perseverance and determination either!)

\- These colors don't mean you're ALWAYS that way. I get frustrated sometimes too and just want to slack off and do something fun, you know? My dad says your soul reflects the best of what makes you most yourself, deep down. So someone with a light blue soul might take a really long time to lose their temper, and if they do, they'll feel way worse about it than someone else would. It's not because their soul is light blue, it's because that's what's important to them to be the person they want to be. It's all kind of hard to follow, but I'll persevere and keep trying to understand! (That's a joke.)

The best of what makes you most yourself... You understand the idea better now than you did when you first read the book. It's comforting to think that there's a part of yourself that, despite everything, never changed.

You're lying in bed when Sans' magic hits you later that night, making you catch your breath as it lights up your whole body. Oh God, he wasn't kidding -- the effect is so powerful that if you'd been standing up, you might have fallen to the floor. He does it twice, harder the second time, and you run your hands over your body, then start playing with your nipples, imagining his bony hands feeling you up instead of your soft ones. In your mind, you replay how he pulled your hair, the feeling of his cock pounding into you, the triumphant look in his eyes as he made you beg for mercy... 

Your hand slips down to your vulva, coating your clit and labia with your own arousal, and you stretch your legs, curling your toes in pleasure. Sadistic bastard, making you do this by yourself when you're desperate for him, when you'd let him do anything he wanted to you right now. You fantasize about him pinning you down, growling to you what a pathetic little slut you are, detailing just how he's going to use _his_ human. His goddamn loss for not being here right now, you think as you start rubbing your clit. You'd beg for him to mark you, break you and leave you filled with his cum, and tension gathers and electrifies you all through as you picture him doing just that to you. 

As you reach orgasm, his magic shimmers within your body as if it's laced around your bones. You cry out, gasping his name, whimpering for your master as your muscles contract and your vulva throbs under your fingers. Before you've even caught your breath he activates his magic again, and you moan in pleasure so intense it's unbearable. Your whole body is on edge now, trembling as the aftershocks from your orgasm crash over you in waves, and you let yourself be carried away by sensation. Soon, all you know is satisfied bliss and fatigue.

"Hope you're happy now," you mumble as you close your eyes, drifting off to sleep in a warm, contented haze. "Sadistic jerk." But you smile as you say it, remembering the way he looked so so playful, so relaxed when he teased you. As if in response, the slightest wave of magic floats through your body. Is he teasing you one last time... or saying goodnight to you?

To the gangsters of New Ebott, and to humans who want to kill him, this man may be Dead Eyes, the freelancing skeleton monster. But to you, he's just Sans. And tonight, it was damn good to be his human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have chapter 13, part 2... which turned out to be one of the longest, most intense chapters in its own right. Did I get your hopes up for another proper sex scene, with that "explicit" label? I suppose now you know how Reader felt... Still, I hope that this chapter was satisfying in a different way!
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns): this was a difficult chapter because the emotions were so complex, and she spent a long time reading it carefully and helping me get it all just right. She also inspired the first little section of smut... so if you were amused and/or turned on by the bit where Sans treats a floppy, loosely tied sash like some sort of chastity belt, thank her!
> 
> I can't make any promises about chapter 15; I'd like to think I'll be able to get it up within a month, but my life is about to become more complicated! I will post status updates at <http://neroli9.tumblr.com/>. Trust me, though, if I'm about to take a mini-hiatus, this is actually a pretty good spot for it...
> 
> Here's a [calendar to chapter 14](http://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/158382020185/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-14).


	15. if you'd said yes

Tuesday morning finds you waking up early and feeling perfectly refreshed, humming to yourself as you get dressed and make breakfast, then nearly skipping from the apartment to the aerial tram. It's a glorious day, by New Ebott standards; the clouds seem just a little lighter than usual, and there's a pleasant breeze. And yesterday had been so wonderful! Sans rearranged his schedule to see you, fucked you thoroughly, spent some time with you and even showed you your soul... Just remembering any part of the evening makes you smile, even the parts where he tormented you mercilessly. Sans didn't know what he'd be doing today... will you see him again so soon? What will he want from you this time? How long will he keep you? 

You're not even trying anymore, you admonish yourself. You're letting yourself get positively giddy about this guy in a way that's extremely unprofessional and probably just as stupid. But he's the one who wanted to stay and relax with _you_ , you tell yourself as you get off the aerial tram just in time to catch the light rail to the hospital. When you'd first made the deal, it had sure seemed like all he wanted was sex, but given how the last two sessions went, maybe what he'd actually been hoping for was a mistress. After all, he seems to like your company, right? And he got you that book, just so you could learn about monsters, and your sketchbook and colored pencils, right? And he showed you your soul, right?

Of course, maybe he's done that little trick with every human prostitute he's ever taken a shine to. And God knows how many of _those_ there have been... A surge of jealousy takes you by surprise as you picture Sans sleeping with a parade of human women. Of all the irrational things, you lecture yourself. You took the deal knowing perfectly well what Sans was like: dangerous, enigmatic and very experienced indeed. It's certainly no business of yours how many humans he's slept with... or bought and installed in secret apartments... or given little presents to... or held the hands of as he drew out their souls... 

You may find yourself rather charmed by the guy -- ok, being honest with yourself, incredibly charmed -- but you'd do well to remember that whether he just wants sex or some companionship as well, this is all an expensive fantasy to him... and his interest in you stems from the role you're playing in that fantasy. Besides, although he's been attentive to you the last couple of sessions, isn't he just as likely to pop in, demand a blowjob and vanish? The thought stings, after how playful and intimate last night felt... but that's precisely what he did less than a week ago.

You're going to get hurt if you can't remember that this is a job, you remind yourself. Sans could become infatuated with some other human, you could offend him somehow, or the novelty of having you around could wear off and he could treat you just as impersonally as he pleased... You'd have no standing to protest, and if you'd let yourself fall for him, then where would you be?

Now you're making yourself all gloomy... You're on the surface to visit your sister, witnessing a glorious fall day that certain residents of New Ebott would literally kill to see, and here you are all wrapped up in your own drama. The thought makes you smile wryly and turn your attention to the view out the window of the light rail.

You arrive at the hospital about a half hour earlier than usual. As you approach the door to Sasha's hospital room, you hear voices. Your good mood shatters, and you freeze. 

She's talking to someone. No... not _him_ \--

"... she'd be grateful. _Why_ don't you want me to tell her?"

"Well... how do I put this?"

Jerren pauses, and you put a hand to your heart. It's thumping so forcefully that for a split second, you panic that he can hear it through the door. The last time you heard his voice, he was snarling not to come crying to him when you were whoring yourself out to monsters...

"I think she'd mistrust my motives. She might feel I was trying to manipulate her into feeling some sort of obligation towards me. That certainly wasn't why I did it, but..." His voice trails off.

Did what?

Sasha scoffs. "You really did blow it with her, didn't you? What actually happened between you two?"

You wince. Oh, for God's sake. You _told_ her not to ask.

"Well... If she didn't want to talk about it, I'm hesitant to go against her wishes. But I can say..."

His voice trails off. Say _what_? You hold your breath, your fists clenched.

"I let my selfishness and arrogance get the better of me. We were friends, I should have helped her. I... hurt her, instead." 

Wow. 

That's a hell of a lot more humble than you'd anticipated.

"Just answer the question. What did you _do_?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm too ashamed to say," he answers. "I cringe when I think about how she must feel about me now, and... I've been thinking about what you said the other day, Sasha." He pauses. "I wish I could tell her I'm sorry."

He what?

"Huh. Well, she should be here soon, anyway. Might get your chance."

"Already? I should --"

Oh crap -- he's going to leave the room any minute, and he'll find you right here, listening in. What the hell was he doing here so early, anyway? You hurry the other way, intending to make yourself scarce until he's safely out of the area. 

No, there's some sort of spill this way, the hallway is being blocked off, and you turn around, scurrying the other way. But you don't get too far that direction either, not with the stairwell closed for repairs. 

That leaves you with another possible path to take, but you don't know the hospital all that well, and it turns out to be a dead end. Well, at least that means Jerren probably won't come this way. You lean against the wall and take a deep breath, your heart still pounding. 

Someone calls you by your old name. A man in his fifties is standing in front of you, arms crossed. Do you know him? His face rings no bells whatsoever. "I've been _waiting_ for you," he says, his tone filled with disgust.

Taken aback, you stammer "Excuse me?"

"You have some nerve showing your face up here again when your whore _mother_ was funding Open Skies. Or have you forgotten what they _did_?"

Oh, so this morning _can_ get worse?

"So here you are, _using_ this place when she wanted to _destroy_ it --"

"You don't know what you're talking about," you snap. "She was innocent. Now if you'll excuse me --"

You try to push past the man, and he grabs your arm. "I'm not done _talking_ to you," he snaps back. 

"Let go!" you shout, trying to pull yourself free.

Right as you say this, a tall figure appears behind the man harassing you, calling "Unhand her!"

You freeze, and the man turns around. "The hell do you think _you_ \--" He falls silent and lets go of your arm as he stares at the interloper. You're not sure if he recognizes Jerren, who to your knowledge seldom left the Courtyard before his newly discovered sense of responsibility kicked in this month, or if Jerren's reputation and general demeanor is providing the necessary clues.

You stare too. For years you thought you'd never see this man again... 

"I think you've made your point," Jerren says icily. "I'll thank you to celebrate your major victory over the terrorists elsewhere." 

The man looks from you to Jerren, scowling. "Wouldn't expect someone like you to take _her_ side," he says. "But then, they just threatened your family. Some of us actually lost someone."

This is _not_ a conversation you want any part of. You mumble excuses and will your muscles into getting you the hell away from the scene.

Sasha looks at you in alarm when you show up at her room, nearly slamming the door behind you. "Uh... are you all right?"

You groan, slumping down in the chair and closing your eyes. "God. Give me a second." You catch your breath, rubbing your forehead. Your heart is racing... The room seems so small... as if everything outside is pressing in on you, forcing you to hide in this one tiny space... 

Sasha takes your request for a second literally. "Did something happen? Are you OK? Aren't you gonna _tell_ me?" 

"Just - just let me think," you mumble, curling up in the chair.

"You saw Jerren, didn't you?"

You sigh, your shoulders slumping. "Yeah."

She perks up. "Did he talk to you?"

"No, he, uh..." You exhale, holding your hand to your forehead. "He helped me. Kind of."

"Kind of?" she presses. "What did he do? Start from the beginning."

"The beginning." You take a deep breath. "Right. Well. I got here early, and I heard you talking to him." You give her your best substitute mother glare. "About a subject I asked you not to bring up, I might mention."

She has the grace to look guilty -- for once, the substitute mother glare seems to have had an effect. "I know," she mumbles. "I know you didn't want me to, I just, uh... I just kept thinking about what might have happened, and... I got carried away, talking to him."

As annoyed as you are that she brought it up, you understand what she means... It's not like you've never gotten carried away talking to Jerren, even when you started out the conversation feeling wary of him. You sigh. "I wish you hadn't."

"Sorry," she says, but there's a certain irritation simmering underneath the word. She still thinks you should tell her what happened between the two of you, you suppose... But now just isn't the right time.

There's silence for a minute before she prompts, "So... what happened next?"

"Well... he was about to leave, and I didn't want him to catch me here, so I tried to get away. But this creep started yelling at me."

"Why?"

You grimace. "Sounded like he lost someone in one of the Open Skies attacks."

"Ugh. Sorry..."

"It didn't last long," you say, shrugging. "Jerren came by and distracted him..."

"Wow. Talk about timing."

"That's Jerren for you... It gets kind of eerie, actually." 

"Guess if you're a prince wherever you are _is_ the right place at the right time," Sasha says, looking inordinately pleased at her own wit. "Then what? Lemme guess, you ran like a bunny?"

"I ran like a bunny."

Sasha snickers. "What'd Jerren do?"

"He told the guy to lay off." You pause, and can't help but smile slightly. "Actually he said, 'Unhand her!'"

"Seriously?" Sasha starts to giggle. "That's so cheesy! _Unhand her_!" she repeats in a decent imitation of Jerren's voice and manner.

"That's Jerren for you, too," you say, softening a little more. "I once told him he always acted like the star of his own private play."

"What'd he say to that?"

"He liked it, actually," you answer with a shrug. 

"Probably because it's totally true. Then what happened?"

"I ran like a bunny, remember?"

"So you didn't talk to him?"

"No, like I said, I just got out of there..." You lean your head back, closing your eyes. 

"Huh," is Sasha's only comment. She's quiet for a few minutes as you calm down. 

Well, there it was. You saw him again, and the world didn't end. He even went out of his way to help you...

The last time you saw him was nearly six years ago... You never expected to see him again, much less have him step in and take your side against someone harassing you. He'd told your sister that people change. God knows that's true enough; both you and Sasha changed a lot, in those years. But what about someone like him? Is he really starting to shoulder some responsibility and take an interest in the world outside of the Courtyard? Has he truly reflected on his character and repented of his prior selfishness and cruelty? Would he actually consider apologizing to you for betraying your trust, terrifying you and abandoning you to the underground?

It's all hard to believe. But so is the idea that he's volunteering with whitepox patients, entertaining your sister by doing voices for pulp fiction stories, stepping in when someone is giving you trouble... 

The timing on that was almost too perfect, wasn't it? You ponder Sasha's offhand comment, that wherever a prince happens to be is the right place at the right time. What would she say if you told her your wild theory about Jerren? That he has glimpses of the future in the same way she does? Ones that are... better, somehow?

What if he'd seen that guy would confront you... and shown up early just to step in and play the hero? 

There's a knock on the door, and you freeze.

Maybe it's just one of the nurses. But they'd have opened the door by now...

"You think it's him?" Sasha whispers, perking up. "He did want to apologize to you..."

You sigh. This meeting is starting to feel inevitable.

You brace yourself as you open the door. Jerren is there, his expression awkward. You recognize a couple of members of his retinue behind him, trying not to look too obviously curious about what he's doing. "I apologize for bothering you. I just wanted to check if you were all right."

"I am, thank you," you answer automatically.

He looks even more sheepish. "There's no need to thank me. I realize you could have handled that yourself. It's just... I hated to see someone harassing you like that."

It's true you could have dealt with the situation -- one more good yank, or a sharp kick to the shins, and the outcome would have been about the same. But still... you have to admit that it's not every day someone goes out of their way to help you. Or... perhaps... came to the hospital early, just to make an impression.

Your expression softens very slightly. "It was kind of you to assist me."

He looks so relieved at this response that for a moment, you're charmed. The last six years have lent his face a maturity and dignity that's really rather appealing. It's not fair the man should be handsome, as well as influential, rich and possibly psychic. No, no, _no_ \-- you can't forget he's a manipulative _creep_.

He pauses. "I just wanted to say..." He glances over your shoulder at Sasha, then back toward you. "I'm sorry."

You blink. So his lips _are_ capable of forming those syllables?

He continues, "There's no excuse for the arrogant and immature way I behaved that night, all because my pride was hurt. I should never have asked in the first place. And I should have apologized to you long ago." 

Good lord, is this guy good at saying what people want to --

"I imagine you're thinking I'm only saying what you want to hear," he continues, his expression awkward. "I don't blame you. It's just that..." His voice trails off. "Well. I truly am sorry."

"I appreciate your apology," you say with, it must be admitted, an unmistakable chill in your voice.

His face falls. "But don't accept it. I understand. I will trouble you no longer. Please... be well." He looks over your shoulder, and there's a flash of a genuine smile on his handsome face. "Until next time, Sasha." He bows and shuts the door.

"You couldn't even accept his apology?" Sasha says, her eyebrows raised.

"I didn't _ask_ for it," you mumble, sitting back down. Your voice feels tight as you attempt to keep your composure. 

"He's been so nice to me, he stopped some guy from harassing you, he even stopped the papers from writing about us and you couldn't even --" She stops short as your eyes widen, and a guilty look crosses her face. "Uh. I wasn't supposed to mention that."

Wow. You take a deep breath. Evidently Jerren didn't understand just how little impulse control your sister actually has, if he expected her to keep _that_ secret. Or did he count on her telling you? You wouldn't put it past him... she doesn't really understand how manipulative he can be. Your heart sinks. Why didn't you do more to warn her when you had the chance? You didn't realize he'd gained her trust to that extent already... 

"That's what he didn't want you to tell me? Because he didn't want me to feel obligated to him?"

"Well, maybe you _should_ feel obligated to him," she shoots back. "How'd you like it if you had a bunch of reporters taking your picture every time you came up here? Or if the papers were trying to figure out how you scrounged up all this money?"

Oh, so she's taking his side now? You bristle. "Just because it might have been a -- a decent thing to do, doesn't mean I have to throw myself at his stupid feet and tell him how _great_ he is --"

"He's not _asking_ for that! He just wants you to forgive him. And I think you _should_!" She's getting quite loud now, her voice thin and scratchy.

"What do _you_ know about it?" you snap.

"I don't know because you won't _tell_ me what happened! I'm starting to think _he_ trusts me more than _you_ do!"

"What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?"

"I bet I could get _him_ to tell me the truth! And I'm _going_ to!"

Good God... Could she? Your heart sinks at the idea. Clearly he's been more effective at winning her sympathy than you'd realized... He'd demurred when she'd asked him directly today, but even just that she felt comfortable asking him shows that by and by... maybe he _would_ answer. Who knows how he'd spin it... what she'd think. It's wrenching to think of your only real ally turning against you. Or... has that already happened?

You take a deep breath. Better she hear it from you than him. 

"You don't have to. I'll tell you." You collect your thoughts; she perks up, but there's guilt in her expression, as if she's not sure she should have pressed you this far. "Uh, well... Before we left the surface, he asked me to become his mistress."

Sasha blinks.

You continue "I, uh... I felt betrayed, and I felt like I couldn't trust him. I said no. He got mad, and... well, he scared the hell out of me. He said terrible things, and he wouldn't let me get away, and he hurt my wrist..."

Your voice trails off as Sasha lays back down, looking up at the ceiling. 

There's silence as she contemplates this new information. 

"So... that's what he was apologizing for? Asking for that, then scaring you?"

"Yeah..."

The two of you are quiet for a moment.

"But... we could have stayed. Right? If you'd said yes?"

There it is. Your heart feels like it's frozen. "Yes."

There's silence.

She touches the pustules on her cheekbone, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. 

You know just what she's thinking, and your guts clench and twist within you. You're desperate to explain yourself, to defend your choice, to convince her that you _did_ do the right thing. But you can't bring yourself to speak in the face of the obvious truth that, had you agreed, she would never have come so close to death in the first place -- or, probably, contracted whitepox at all.

It feels like a quarter of an hour has gone by before she says "I know... you try really hard..."

You swallow, not knowing what to say.

"You just wanted to do what you thought was best... right? I understand," she continues quietly. "Just..." Her voice is barely a whisper now. "Do you regret it?"

How many times have you asked yourself the same question? 

Several times a day, for a while there...

Even after your life had become more stable, the question still popped into your mind constantly.

Sometimes, when you were at your most weary and frustrated, your answer was yes, you damn well did regret it. The hell would have been so horrible about having money, and living on the surface, and sleeping with a handsome, charming man? 

Then you would really think about it. You would remember that you'd seen his true nature. And you would know in your bones there was something deeply wrong with him, and that whatever happened to you underground would always be better than whatever your life would have become under his control.

The true answer always turned out to be no. Except once.

"When I thought I couldn't do anything for you... before I knew I could get you up here... yes. I did."

She's quiet for a minute before saying "Just then?"

She sounds like a little kid again, her voice so defeated that it makes you choke up. That's just how she'd sounded that first night in the shelter... Everything would be fine, you'd reassured her. You'd made a mistake, deciding to keep going down your list instead of asking that nice skeleton for help. You'd just go back and find him in the morning...

If you say anything, you're going to start crying. You nod, instead.

She stares at the wall ahead of her. It's a while before she says "You try... really hard, don't you? I, um... I know you try..."

She's not trying to convince you. She's trying to convince herself. There's a tight feeling in the back of your throat.

She closes her eyes. "I... kind of want to be alone right now..."

She wants to be alone... or she wants you to go away? "Sasha... "

"I'm sorry... I'm just really tired," she whispers.

"Okay..." You stand up, looking at her. She looks so pathetic and forlorn that tears start to gather in your eyes. "Maybe... I should come back in a few hours? We -- we can talk..." you offer, your voice unsteady.

"Maybe... tomorrow," she mumbles.

"Uh... OK... I'll, um, I'll see you tomorrow..."

She curls up, facing away from you towards the wall.

You slip out of her room before you lose it. Luckily there's a convenient bathroom just down the hall to bawl in. Your sister must hate you now, and after everything you've done for her she likes Jerren better than you, goddamn _Jerren_ of all people, and you've screwed up everything, every goddamn thing from the minute your parents were gone and you alone were responsible for the two of you. Well, that turned out _fantastic_ , didn't it? Everything you've ever done has been a total and complete mistake, a _disaster_. You barely know yourself anymore, you always feel so tired and withdrawn, and all this time Sasha's believed in you, she's never complained, and now she's _never_ going to forgive you, both for turning down the offer that could have saved both of you so much misery and for hiding it from her all this time. Never, never, never. That's how it _always_ is for you, isn't it? Nothing ever goes right, everything you touch turns to dust...

Your thoughts run along these lines for a long time, well after you've cried yourself out. You make your way back underground without hardly noticing you're doing it, your movements automatic and your attention far away.

You fall apart again when you reach your tiny, cold basement apartment, curling up on your bed and crying. After another comprehensive round of berating yourself for every mistake you've made in your life, you're exhausted. You lay on your bed with your arm over your eyes, your muscles tense and a sick anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

You and Sasha both lost everything, but you at least knew there was a choice; you went underground taking comfort in the belief that the alternative would be worse. She didn't know that, and now she must be re-evaluating the nearly six years she's spent down here. The last years of her childhood, the beginning of her life as a young woman, it's all been shaped by stress and loss. Like you, she finds it hard to connect with people, she thinks a little too often of the life she's lost and she mourns her parents and her brother. As her substitute mother, you often feel you've failed at helping her work through her feelings, and she tends to handle them by acting out and denying she's ever upset or affected at all. 

Now she must be envisioning how things might have been if she'd had the education she deserved, the friends she spent her childhood with, the opportunities that money and status bring... and guidance from people better equipped to help her than her older sister. She didn't get a chance at any of that, all because of the choice you made... a choice that from her point of view must seem hopelessly prideful, self-indulgent and naive, considering everything that had happened to the two of you afterward.

You have a long, draining conversation with Sasha in your head in which she castigates you for bringing your nine-year old sister underground. Didn't you know how dangerous it was? The two of you hadn't been down there a whole day before you got mugged... bumbling around like a pair of toddlers. You thought _someone_ would help you, and you were so completely wrong. The only one to be nice to either of you all day was a monster. You didn't know what you were doing, you didn't know how to survive, you got so desperate the only thing that stopped you from becoming a streetwalker was the knowledge that you were so naive and unlucky that the first time you tried it you'd certainly have been arrested. You ended up throwing yourself on the mercy of some gangster; although Louis had genuinely been smitten by you and was a pretty decent guy, you'd known damn well that you'd turned down Jerren only to wind up trading on your sexuality to survive anyway. And look how that turned out, you nearly died right next to him and his sister in a gang war... 

From her perspective, would it have really been _that_ much of a sacrifice for you to become a prince's mistress instead of going through all that -- and putting your sister through it, when she was just a little girl and entirely powerless? What seemed like a horrible fate to you might seem like a pretty lucky outcome to her. Especially because now that she and Jerren have gotten to know each other better, it's clear that she's come to think highly of him. So highly, as a matter of fact, that they now have enough of a rapport to talk about the past... and about you. 

In your head, Sasha starts talking up Jerren's good points. He's so charming, he stood up for you and apologized so nicely to you, he's always been unusually kind to you except for _just_ twice, and that was all years and years ago...

"'Just' twice is goddamn well _enough_ ," you snap back out loud, before remembering that this conversation is taking place entirely in your head. Sasha taking his side annoys you more than any other part of the imaginary discussion. Since when has Jerren taken an interest in kids? You feel tense, impotent anger spread all through you as you wonder if he planned this from the start... if he's been getting to know the only person you have left in the world so he could pit her against you. Why? Ever since he made you that offer, you've wondered if he'd merely tried to turn your situation to his advantage, or if he actively had something to do with the destruction of your family, in an attempt to put you under his control... Maybe he's just finishing the job? Why? Why stand up for you, then, why apologize so sincerely? None of it makes any sense whatsoever...

You'd decided to start working for Muffet, hoping to help Sasha stick it out a little longer... but deep down, you'd known that the best you could really do was make her final few weeks more comfortable. When Sans' envelope full of money had landed in your hands, you knew you'd been given your last chance to save your sister. You'd considered that bringing Sasha back to the surface might lead to your identity being revealed, and you'd been so desperate not to lose her that you'd been willing to take that risk. But you never once thought your actions might lead to Jerren re-entering your life. After all, he was secluded on the other side of the surface, with his writing, monster fights and extensive social circle to fill his days. And for all he had once seemed so friendly towards you that Ionathia and Adaleia weren't the only ones that envisioned a future for you inside the palace -- oh God the excruciating conversations you'd had with your mother -- you'd never been able to look at him without remembering that party nine years ago. 

The first day you ever met him, your idealism and naiveté had led you to offend him and make a fool of yourself. Before that day, whatever reputation you had was limited to a very small circle where you were known as "the artistic one." Afterwards, the whole Courtyard was quite aware of you. After all, you were now "the girl who made such a memorable scene at Prince Jerren's birthday party over a little sport." You don't exactly regret your actions, but in hindsight recalling them sometimes makes you feel stupid. All that fuss, and what did you actually change? Nothing. It's not like you single-handedly stopped monster fights in the Courtyard... There's one more monster somewhere in the districts than there would have been otherwise, that's all, and for all you know that would have happened whether you'd been there or not. Your past self still whispers to you "It was the right thing to do." Yeah, well, that and a quarter will get you a movie ticket.

And the way Jerren looked at you that day... as if your very existence was offensive to him, as if he could have cheerfully turned you into dust, just like he'd done to those poor monsters... He'd turned the full force of his withering sarcasm on you until the whole audience of partygoers was laughing at your obstinance and impertinence. He'd grabbed your wrist so hard he'd bruised it... then twisted it hard enough to sprain it. And near the end, his voice had been deadly calm as he'd whispered in your ear a promise that he'd never forget what you'd done that day. He hadn't seemed angry, exactly. If you had to put an emotion to it, it might have been... triumph?

Jerren hadn't apologized for any of it, the next time you'd seen him. That had been a little over a month later, as your furious mother had grounded you for most of that time. He had expressed diplomatically worded regret that you'd both let the situation escalate so far, as well as a wish to restart your acquaintance on a better foot. But if he didn't exactly apologize, at least he didn't try to force an apology out of you. There were some who admired what you did -- not everyone in the Courtyard approved of monster fights, or thought much of Jerren -- but most of the Courtyard thought him entitled to some groveling. You would have refused, he would have gotten offended again, and then there'd have been another month of house arrest.

After that, on the occasions your paths crossed he'd been charming to you, and early on, you'd come away with the impression that he regretted his earlier threats and now wanted you to like him. You'd hardly wished to give further offense, and eventually you came to accept him in a superficial sort of way. But when your mother was arrested three years later and he started going out of his way to support you and your family, you could almost forget those memories of the party. You started to feel relief and gratitude when he was around, knowing there was _someone_ who was on your side. He'd gone out of his way to support and get to know your brother, too, which made a big impression on you; always more accepting and open than you, Matty had thought highly of Jerren and considered him a friend. 

You'd even had some personal conversations and spent some carefree, enjoyable afternoons with Jerren, which had caused you to think differently about him. You'd decided that what had happened at the party had been an anomaly. He'd just turned seventeen that very day, and undoubtedly his position in life had made him spoiled and unused to opposition, quite unable to deal with attacks on his ego from a fifteen-year old nobody like you. But as he matured, wasn't he proving that his true nature was compassionate and thoughtful?

Somewhere deep inside you, your intuition kept insisting... No! The Jerren you saw that day is who he _is_. Still, when faced with his charm and kindness, paired with an upbringing and training that had taught you to question your own judgment, respect etiquette and protocol and give others the benefit of the doubt, it became harder and harder to listen to your own inner voice. He had a knack for making you forget your unease, for saying just the right thing... But even as you started to fall under his spell, that inner voice kept pointing out that he couldn't be trusted, that there was something about him that was wrong, somehow. How? Too smooth? Too interested in you? Too perfect?

Your intuition was vindicated when he summoned you to the palace one night, a week before your estate was set to be confiscated as punishment for your mother's treason. Before her execution, she had taken comfort in your friendship with him, and exhorted you "to do anything you need to do to stay in his favor... and I mean _anything_! Do you understand me, darling?" You had thought -- but not said -- that your mother being stupid about sex is what got your family into this mess in the first place, and that Jerren was not so crass, not so unfeeling or mercenary, as to use you like that. Not now, not at the darkest hour of your life.

Well, you had been wrong, and the offer threw everything you knew about him into question and put you on your guard. A frightening thought had crossed your mind: years ago, he swore that he'd never forget how you'd confronted and humiliated him. Did he have a hand in all that had happened to your family, as part of some twisted desire to control you?

You had no proof. You still don't. But the same sixth sense that had told you he couldn't be trusted whispered that this didn't feel like a coincidence... it felt wrong in every way. _He_ felt wrong... He must be much more dangerous and manipulative than you'd known... and if this truly was some sort of revenge for challenging him, then accepting the offer might very well mean you were submitting to punishment beyond anything even your active imagination could envision. You simply couldn't accept.

For perhaps five minutes, you'd deflected the suggestion, tried as diplomatically as you could to appeal to his better nature and his friendship for you and your late brother, to gain his help without having to enter into such an arrangement to secure it. 

That period of your life is marked by memories seared into your brain. Your mother being escorted from your estate by soldiers, promising her children that it was undoubtedly some misunderstanding that would all be cleared up by tomorrow. Taking a swing -- and completely missing, to your shame -- at the jaw of the man who'd killed your brother in a duel. The servant who blocked you from entering your father's study, her face pale. One particular moment with Jerren stands out, when you think back on your last meeting with him. All through his offer he'd smiled, as if he had every confidence you'd accept his offer. You'd made your refusal clear, albeit in a polite way. You'd then braced yourself, expecting him to cajole you or perhaps remind you of your precarious position. Instead he'd closed his eyes and taken a deep breath. When he'd opened them again, his face was twisted with rage and frustration.

Too late, you understood that the Jerren you had seen at that party was _precisely_ who he was. He'd unleashed a barrage of sarcasm against you, saying so many horrible things about you and your family that you can't even remember all of them. Shocked, insulted and unsettled by the switch from the charming Jerren you knew to the cruel one you'd met a couple of years earlier, you hadn't even known how to respond. 

You'd attempted to placate him and escape; he'd completely ignored your attempts to the point that it felt as if he was talking to himself, not to you at all. He'd physically intimidated you, getting right up close to you with the clear intention of forcing you into a corner. When you'd tried to avoid being trapped, he'd blocked you effortlessly. After your second attempt to get away, he grabbed your upper arm so hard he left bruises.

He swore that if you wouldn't agree, you'd be ruined. Somehow, you could only answer with the truth: that you'd rather be ruined.

He'd slammed you against the wall and looked at you with such fury that you'd known he'd completely lost control of himself. Some survival instinct kicked in as you realized what might happen next, and you froze. But the rage in his expression vanished, replaced by an enigmatic smile. He released you and strode away, calling out one final insult as you started to hyperventilate, your heart racing and your legs giving out from underneath you.

Now almost six years later, your sister thinks she can trust him more than she can trust you.

God _damn_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader's already complicated life just got a little weirder... 
> 
> A rather plot-heavy chapter this time, after the sex and intimacy of 13 and 14. Given that you as the reader are the viewpoint character looking back at your own past -- which you as the reader aren't actually aware of -- this chapter may feel like a rather strange one! I didn't expect to get this ambitious when I started writing pure Sans/Reader smut... Well, it's my nature to not know when to quit.
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for beta reading! This was an intense chapter, and as always it's so much better because of her input. She's got a better sense for everyone's emotions than I do, sometimes!
> 
> Thanks also to [yanderebunny303](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yanderebunny303) for this [adorable fanart of post-orgasm Reader](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/158692993200/yanderebunny303-fanart-for-a-puzzle-just-for#notes) from Chapter 14! I love the expression on her face, and whenever people draw Reader her hair always looks great...
> 
> How will Sans react to seeing Reader this upset? Find out next time... which I expect will be in two or three weeks. As always, if there's any updates they'll be at <https://neroli9.tumblr.com/>.
> 
> Here's a [calendar to chapter 15](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/159191437950/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-15).
> 
> **April 30, 2017:**  
>  Due to both my life and peonylanterns' life becoming more busy, I can't predict when the next chapters will be available; I'm not _quite_ calling it a hiatus, but for the next several months I won't be able to give estimates on upcoming chapters, and I don't know when 16 will be up.
> 
> Any updates about APJFM will be [at my tumblr under the APJFM status updates tag](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-status-update).


	16. the same plan b

Too soon it's almost time to go meet Sans... and you can barely function. Sasha must still be so shaken and angry, as she revisits nearly six years of life underground and pictures what might have been. And why didn't you properly warn her about Jerren when you had the chance? She might have lost her trust in you, but she also might have treated him with the suspicion he deserves. Maybe then you would have never seen him again, instead of running into him and dredging up all those painful memories...

Right now, you feel in every way like a rejected, selfish, helpless, stupid failure. How can you smile and spread your legs now? How can you possibly give Sans the escapist fantasy he's searching for when you want so desperately to wallow in your own misery? 

Well, what are your choices? He's told you that he only wants to communicate through the notebook; you suppose that means he'd consider a phone call to the apartment a security risk, since some operator could be listening in. What if you skipped the session altogether? Sans is laid-back enough that you don't think he'd break the deal or get seriously mad at you, if you apologized later and explained that you'd been sick. He's worked with humans, he must understand that your water-based bodies are frail and uncooperative. But not only do you have a hell of a lot to lose if you're wrong, you want him to think well of you... to feel like you can be trusted. You could drop by the apartment and leave a note... where you might run into him anyway. Oh, that'd be great, he'd probably show up just as you were writing out how sick you were. So much for that whole trust thing.

He wasn't even sure he'd be there today. If you force yourself to keep it together and go to the apartment, you might not even see him anyway. Or maybe he'd show up for a half hour, then leave again; the idea of the ten-minute blowjob that had stung this morning now seems like it'd be a reprieve. If he left quickly enough, he might not even notice you're not doing great... although he does seem perceptive about that sort of thing.

Faced with a bunch of crappy options, you decide with a sigh that your best one is to buck up and do your job. You wash off your ruined mascara and cover your face with a washcloth soaked in cold water for a few minutes, then start walking to the apartment. The cold fall air is bracing, and when you arrive you feel a little more refreshed. No note from him... You adjust your makeup so that you're somewhat presentable, although your eyes still look pretty red. You tune the radio to a drama and lay down on the couch, closing your eyes and trying to follow the plot.

Sans teleports in around four-thirty. The dots of light in his eye sockets seem to scan you as you sit up and slap on a smile.

* _she's been crying?_

"heya kid," he says, grinning at you. "what's the difference between a well dressed fella on a unicycle and a guy in rags riding a bike?"

"Uh... I dunno..."

"attire."

A smile spreads across your face, and you groan and laugh at the same time.

* _the smile she had at first was forced, but that one was real._

* _there's relief and pleasure in her expression, as if she hadn't expected she'd have anything to laugh about for a while._

He takes off his coat, hat, holster and jacket behind the closet door, then flops down on the couch, closing his eyes and resting his head on the back cushion. "long day. ya mind grabbing me a beer?"

"Sure," you say, standing up and walking over to the kitchen. 

He watches you as you take a bottle from the shelf and fumble with the bottle opener.

* _yep. she's jittery and tightly wound._

* _and slightly wary of me. why? maybe i was wrong, and she only just now got around to reading the part in that goddamn book about me?_

* _doubt it, she's had it for days now. she's too curious to have let it go that long._

* _there's also a certain distraction in her manner. so no, i don't think this is about me, exactly. perhaps she's wondering what i'm going to demand of her this time, or how long i intend to keep her here._

* _she just wants to go home, but she came anyway, and she's trying not to let on that something's wrong._

* _poor kid._

* _well, i guess there's more to owning a human than getting blowjobs and making her call you master._

You bring the bottle of beer back to Sans, handing it to him. He takes a swig, studies you then drinks again. "listen," he says, gesturing to you with his beer bottle. "you aren't feeling it today, are ya?"

Flustered, you answer "Oh, no -- no, I'm fine..."

"look, i understand," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "everyone has days where you just wanna climb back in bed and hide under the covers. yeah?"

You take a deep breath, then exhale. "Another lucky guess, huh?"

He shakes his head. "sweetheart... you look miserable."

He might be perceptive about this kind of thing... but honestly, it probably didn't take all that much observation to figure out how you were feeling. "Yeah," you admit, curling up on the couch, unable to meet his gaze.

He takes another drink of his beer before looking at you appraisingly. "thing is, i'm happy with, uh, with how this arrangement is going. so you don't have to worry 'bout taking an extra day off every so often if you really need it."

"I'm so sorry..."

"don't be. just, how 'bout you keep me company 'til i finish this beer? then we'll both be on our way."

"Uh... I really appreciate that, Sans." If he had any doubts about how you were feeling before, the sheer relief in your voice now must give it away. "You sure you wouldn't like me to come in on one of my days off, to make up for it? That'd only be fair..."

* _she makes it sound like i'm being so damned magnanimous, just for not making her shitty day even more shitty..._

"nah, 's really not that big a deal," he says, shrugging. "just maybe ya gotta put up with a couple more jokes before i'm done."

"I wouldn't mind that," you say with a shy smile.

"yeah? well, then." He takes another swig of his beer, looking thoughtful. "so this guy's walking down the street, and he spots this kid sitting on the curb, shoveling down candy like there's no tomorrow. he's got this big ol' bag of it, right? and he's just like --" Sans mimes holding open a bag and scooping up candy, cramming it into his mouth. Just the slapstick way in which he does it makes you giggle. 

Pleased, he continues, "guy watches for a bit, horrified. kid don't give a shit, he just keeps on scarfing it down, right? finally the guy says, 'y'know, son, all that candy can't be good for your health.'" kid looks up at him, mouth full of candy. an' he says... 'mister, i'll have ya know, my grandpa lived to be ninety-five years old.' guy looks skeptical, says, 's'pose you're gonna tell me he ate a lot of candy too?' an' the kid says..." Sans pauses and raises an eyebrow. "'no. he just knew when to mind his own fucking business.'"

You laugh, stretching out on the couch and smiling at Sans. He grins back and downs some more beer. "whaddya say? gonna want to dust me if i tell ya another?"

"Go for it."

"hmm." Sans considers this as he takes another drink. "knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"control freak. ok, now YOU say 'control freak who?'" He looks satisfied with himself as you chuckle. "how 'bout this one. what happens if ya drink food coloring?"

"I dunno, what?"

"you dye a little inside." 

"Oh my God, that's awful," you groan, even as you can't help but laugh at the same time. 

His grin widens. "why, thank you." He takes another drink, then gestures at you with his bottle. "one more and you're free. what's the difference between ignorance and apathy?"

"What?"

"i dunno... and i don't care." He drains the rest of his beer as you lean back on the couch and laugh. "there." He stands up. "rest of the day's yours." He goes to the closet, blocking your view with the door as he puts on everything he'd taken off mere minutes ago.

"Thank you for understanding, Sans," you say sheepishly, following him as far as the other side of the door.

"don't mention it. i've got a plan b anyway."

"Even still, I _am_ sorry..."

He closes the closet door, all put together again, and pats you on the shoulder. "aw, come on, kid. you're, uh..."

* _my girl._

"you're my human, right?" he says with a wink. "don't want you to be all stressed out when you're here with me."

True enough. A happy human is a more sexually receptive human, and given all that he's invested into paying you, buying Muffet's goodwill and having you set up this apartment, he's clearly viewing this as a long-term arrangement. Seen in that light, what does an extra day off here or there matter? It wouldn't do to forget what this is really all about. But all the same, his consideration towards you is touching. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow," you say, leaning over and kissing his cheekbone.

* _can't help but wonder what the hell happened._

* _of course, it's not really my business, is it?_

"i'll hold you to that," he says, grinning. "see ya at four." He takes a step back and vanishes.

You sit back down on the couch, exhaling. Jeez. Right now, leaving you the hell alone feels like the nicest thing any guy has ever done for you. But to your surprise, you're actually disappointed that he's gone. It wasn't bad at all, sitting here with Sans while he had a drink and told you jokes. He might have even been trying to cheer you up?

Well, if that was his aim, it worked. You can still feel the stress in your body from this morning, but somehow you feel just a little lighter now, a little more prepared to get through the rest of your day and face Sasha... and perhaps Jerren... tomorrow. 

Actually, it strikes you that you're ravenous. You'd been too distraught to even consider eating, after your sister dismissed you. There's a deli down the street, and you decide to treat yourself to a cheap dinner. As you eat your sandwich and pasta salad, you scan the newspaper that someone else left at the counter. Well, this is interesting... There's a new science fiction movie opening today. "Journey to the Stars." There's nothing like a movie, any movie, to lift your spirits.... and going to the stars, even vicariously, sounds a hell of a lot better than grubbing around here on the ground where everything is miserable. There's a particularly nice theater around here, and if you leave in ten minutes, you can be there in time for the opening newsreel. You hurry to finish your meal and walk a few blocks to the movie theater.

With dinner out and a movie in one night, your entertainment budget is taking a hell of a hit, but it seems worth it as you buy your ticket and follow the usher to a seat in the upper level. It's a great opportunity for some people-watching, and you scan the people in the lower level, enjoying the variety of fashions, hairstyles, body shapes. You always did like drawing people best... A particularly pretty hat on an elegant young lady catches your eye, and almost by instinct, you reach for your sketchbook, capturing the basic lines of the hat before she takes it off. Sketching some scenes of the audience members below you as you wait for the curtain to rise cheers you up all the more. The guy next to you strikes up a conversation about your sketches, and the time passes agreeably as the two of you point out interesting moviegoers for you to draw.

As you'd hoped, the stars are a much better place to be than anywhere down here, and for a while, you forget your troubles in the excitement of following the story and admiring the special effects. Sasha would have liked this one... The thought distracts you from a scene of a space ship blasting off. She won't _really_ hate you forever... It's true she can hold a mean grudge, but not against you, not when she knows you've been trying so hard. And she's getting better, the treatments seem to be having some effect... Even if your relationship is never really quite the same, someday you'll be able to take her to a movie, just like this, where you can both pretend nothing was ever wrong... 

After the movie ends your seatmate accompanies you out of the movie theater; outside, you politely deflect an offer to go get coffee, and he takes his leave. Even if you didn't have your agreement with Sans to consider, you're in a solitary, thoughtful mood, and you want the evening to yourself. You pause for a moment in front of the theater, leaning against a wall next to a poster for _The Perils of Paola_ and looking up at the sky as the crowd passes by. By New Ebott standards, it's a clear night, and you can get a good look at the clouds that block the stars and moon.

It's always an odd experience, going to a movie about outer space or seeing a picture of the night sky that's been created by people who've never seen the stars themselves. The stars they envision are brighter than in reality, more well-defined and glittery. The moon is often comically large, and mottled in ways that don't at all resemble the real thing. In some ways, seeing the sky through the imaginations of people who've never seen it is just as glorious an experience as seeing it for real. Which, of course, is easy for you to say, considering you _have_ seen it for real, and -- 

You're jolted back to reality when your purse is ripped from your hands. You yelp as the culprit cuts through the ticket line and pushes through the crowd. "Thief! Stop him!" you yell, just a little too late. A few people make ineffectual attempts at grabbing the man, but he evades them. You give chase, continuing to yell as you try to follow him, but you were too startled to act immediately. Plus you're hobbled by shoes that aren't designed for pursuing criminals, and you nearly trip, catching yourself before you fall to the ground. Before you know it, you've lost him. You stand frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, your hands balled into fists and your teeth clenched, trying to decide which way he might have fled, knowing that he's long gone.

Well, this is just _perfect_ , you think, starting to shake with frustration and anger, your eyes feeling hot. Figures that such a rotten day would end like this. So stupid of you to have been just standing there waiting for someone to target you. You can't stop your tears from falling as you start reviewing your mistakes. You hadn't even had your bag looped over your shoulder, tucked under your arm like usual. No, you'd been standing with it held in front of you as you stared up at the stupid sky, your head in the stupid clouds. You might as well have had a giant sign pointing to you, reading "Easy mark! Right here!" You wipe your eyes, feeling increasingly furious and frustrated with yourself. Someone who once lost just about everything in a mugging should never have been so careless! Your hand involuntarily goes to where your locket used to be. Stupid, stupid, _stu_ \--

A man jostles you with his elbow as he goes by. "Outta the way, lady," he grumbles.

" _Jerk_ ," you mutter back, sniffling. But he's got a point. You can't just stand here and space out all night like a complete airhead, that's already gotten you into enough trouble. Now what? You could report it, you think, your shoulders slumping. Because surely the New Ebott police force would make some lady's stolen handbag their highest priority. And if there's one thing you're eager to do, it's bring yourself to the attention of the authorities. You didn't even get a good look at the guy -- you have a vague impression of a young man in a hat and coat too big for him. You couldn't possibly pick him out of a lineup, not that there will actually be a lineup because no one gives a hoot about your handbag. Maybe the thief might have a crisis of conscience in the next half hour and turn himself in? Oh, that's a good one. You know you'll never see it again. 

You make your way out of the middle of the sidewalk and lean against a building, where you take stock of your situation and wipe your eyes. With the back of your hand, like an _animal_ , because of course your handkerchief is in your handbag. You're shaken by the theft, and not only can you not stop crying, your body is tense and jittery all through. You just need to sit until your legs stop feeling so wobbly... Then once you're a little calmer you can pull yourself together, figure out what to do next. You're not close to your own place at all... but the apartment isn't too far away. That seems a lot better than sitting in the dark on a park bench or something, where maybe someone could accost you and steal your darn coat, too.

Your thoughts are gloomy the whole way to the shared apartment, and though you're not out-and-out sobbing, your nose is all snotty and tears insist on sliding down your face. How do you still have tears to cry, after this morning? You grit your teeth and wipe it all away, trying to keep yourself together. Too bad you didn't take that guy up on his offer to get coffee, you'd still have your handbag. And now look at you, you're pathetic... Your feet are tired, and you feel like there might be a blister forming on the left heel. Sure would have been nice to take the bus home tonight... except that your bus fare is in your handbag. Or, at least, was in your handbag. It's probably being spent right now... on booze or hookers. Hopefully some nice lady in your line of work appreciates _your_ money.

What else? Your keys are long gone, along with the cute keychain Sasha made you. The building manager in the shared apartment is always around and is friendly enough... it shouldn't be a problem getting a spare key from her. It's a different story, at your place... You'll be lucky if you don't wind up heading back to the shared apartment to sleep because your flaky landlady is gone all evening. 

Then there's the contents of your wallet... not much in there, at least, because anything giving away your real name is still at your apartment. That's a tiny bit of luck... Still, the thief now has the punch card to get a free soda at the soda fountain near your apartment. You'd completely filled it out last time you were there. As petty as it is, the thought annoys you so much that you start crying all over again. You had to buy ten sodas to fill it out! Well, you hope he chokes on his free soda and it all goes into his lungs. 

That first aid kit had come in handy several times, and now you had to put it all back together from scratch. Same for your makeup bag. Darn it, you'd really liked the lipstick you'd been carrying with you, and it hadn't been cheap. And your sewing kit, too. Stupid thief probably wouldn't know what to do with it, you think as you wipe your face again. He probably just tossed it on the ground somewhere, or maybe he'll give it as a tip to the same lady who'll undoubtedly get the rest of your money. Your handkerchief, which you could really use right now, you're a mess... your notebook and pencil, and your sketchbook, the sketchbook Sans gave to you... This makes you start crying all over again. It was so nice of him to give it to you in the first place... How can you tell him you need another one already?

At least getting a replacement key is no trouble at all, except for that your building manager insists on fussing over poor pitiful you and hearing the story of the theft multiple times. You're in an even worse mood when you leave her office, and you cheer yourself up by inventing increasingly elaborate punishments for the thief as you trudge up the three flights of stairs and unlock the door.

Oh, it feels so comforting to be back at this apartment, protected as it is by Sans' magic. You can't help but smile as you look around at the couch where Sans told you jokes, the table with the notebook and your -- your...

...your handbag.

Wait. What?!

You cover the distance between the door and the table in two steps and snatch up your handbag, gasping. You open it up and paw through it. Wallet, check, coin purse, check, money, check, keys, check, first aid kit, check, handkerchief, check, sewing kit, check, makeup bag, check, sketchbook, check, notebook, check, pencil, check, soda punch card, check... It's all there! You hop up and down, beaming as you hold the bag to your chest.

How did this happen? It must be that Sans got it back for you, but... how? You open the notebook to find a new note for you:

\- don't worry, i wasn't stalking you. we just happened to have the same plan b. sorry your day off ended like it did.

So he was at the movie too? And he saw your bag get taken, and got it back for you? Talk about incredible good luck! Relief and gratitude suffuse your body with giddiness, and you laugh out loud, hugging your bag.

You sit down and write back:

\- Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! I thought I'd never see it again! I was so frustrated and mad at myself... I just couldn't believe it when I got back here and saw it on the table! I'm so lucky that you went to that movie, too... and I'm so grateful you took the time to get it back for me! I can't tell you how much I appreciate this! Thank you again, Sans!

You make yourself some tea and a snack, pondering what to do next. It's getting late, and you're worn out after such a grueling day... Besides, if you stay here, maybe Sans will come back to check if you found your bag.

So Sans likes movies, too? He never mentioned that, that time you were talking about them... Perhaps he actually was stalking you, despite what he said in his note? A shiver goes up your spine. The guy can teleport, after all... He could have been following you with ease for days now, and you'd never even know. No... because if he made a habit of following you, he'd already know you were going to the surface, and you can't imagine he'd let that pass without comment. It was just another coincidence, you decide, in a day filled with coincidences. Still, even if he hadn't purposely followed you to the movie, there's no doubt that he had noticed you at some point and had been watching you as you stood outside the theater. It's thrilling to know that he noticed you, that he was perhaps curious about you or happy to see you. At the same time, knowing that you were under surveillance for an unknown amount of time is disconcerting. When did he notice you? Had he seen you adjusting your bra when you thought no one was looking? Did he think you'd been just a little too flirty with that guy sitting next to you? And had he intended to mention he'd seen you, if your handbag hadn't been stolen?

After all that's happened today, you don't have the energy to worry about any of that... It's enough, for now, just to feel lucky that you have your handbag back, and that Sans was watching out for you in the right place in the right time. To your disappointment, he doesn't return to the apartment that evening, but you smile as you climb into bed, thinking about how you'll have plenty to talk with him about tomorrow... after you show your gratitude in an appropriate way. A wave of arousal goes through your belly as you consider how you might do that... After such a rotten day, you're glad to have the excuse to let your mind wander to pleasing places.

\----------

Sans is in his lab around two in the morning, sitting hunched over and staring at a screen attached to a large, sleek computer. The screen is filled with a complex pattern of lines and loops that all wind around a central, horizontal line that slashes through the middle. He inspects a certain section over and over. It's dated 09/26/01933 09:30, and the patterns are so dense that Sans has to focus on one tiny section at a time. He scoots his chair back a few inches and slumps forward, resting his forehead in his hands.

* _had a big day today, did you?_

* _goddamn it._

* _on days like this, i wish i'd torched my lab years ago. because the only real evidence i've got for any of this is here. if this machine and its data didn't exist, then the anomaly, the resets, the black holes, the thousands of years of past timelines... it'd all be in my head._

* _maybe then i could convince myself that i was delusional or overly credulous... that none of it had ever been real._

* _maybe then i could finally drink enough, or take enough drugs, to scramble my soul... and permanently forget the true nature of time._

* _my data indicates that the anomaly has never gone past 1936... it eventually resets away everything it does and returns to what i assume is its chosen starting point in 1924, creating a new timeline._

* _it's not like the resets bother anyone else, right? and if i'm the only one who knows how many times we've relived this span of time, and i chose to shut my eye sockets to reality, who would it actually be harming?_

* _in this timeline, i've given up on the idea that i will ever understand the patterns... or put an end to the entity that creates them. sometimes whole weeks go by where i can distract myself enough to stop coming back here and torturing myself._

* _yet i can never leave it alone in the end. as long as the entity responsible for killing my brother and destroying my life exists and i have the means of tracking its movements, i'll always be obsessed with it._

* _but it's not like coming back here ever does anything for me besides remind me of my own failure and impotence. just look at this morning._

* _while i slept, we lost days as the anomaly repeated the same few hours, then the same quarter of an hour, then the same few minutes, over and over and over. given the patterns leading up to today, i'd expected a surge of activity soon... and i was right, it definitely put some plan into action this morning. yet the only conclusion i can draw is the same one i always fall back on._

* _by god, the anomaly wanted SOMETHING._

* _there have been similar spikes in previous iterations of the week... and after them, the timeline has been resetting, as if the anomaly has been trying new approaches. but so far, the timeline continues. so did it get what it wanted? or will i go to sleep and wake up september first?_

* _it tires me out just looking at this shit. i can't imagine living it over and over again... the patience, or rather determination, that fucker must have is unimaginable._

Sans stands up and paces around the tiny lab, pointedly not looking at a large object in the corner covered with a sheet.

* _i can study the patterns until my eye sockets go dark. but what good is it, knowing exactly how many hundreds of times the anomaly reset, or knowing that the bulk of the resets happened at a specific time in the morning?_

* _i'll never, ever know what the anomaly was trying to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! For both peonylanterns and myself, real life is interfering with fanfiction production. I'm still not _exactly_ calling this a hiatus, but I wouldn't expect 17 for at least two months, possibly longer. But sufficient unto the day is the fanfiction thereof! Enjoy this chapter, and if you're wishing for more APJFM... well, now that I have all but taped a sign reading "ANOMALY" to a certain character's forehead, you could always go back and see if this knowledge shines a new light on certain scenes.
> 
> More details on the somewhat-hiatus are [on my tumblr](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/159760046150/good-news-and-bad-news), and I'll post any news I have about APJFM there as well, with the [APJFM status update](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-status-update) tag.
> 
> Thanks as always to peonylanterns for editing APJFM! She's been incredibly busy lately, but busted her ass finishing reading through this chapter right before leaving the country (like, literally while she was at the airport) so I could finish it and put it up. 
> 
> Next time, Reader receives a bill for Sans' services... Again, don't look for it for another two months at least.
> 
> Here's a [calendar to the end of this chapter](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/160810831095/apjfm-calendar-to-chapter-16).


	17. how these stories are supposed to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not up for rereading 100,000 words to remember what's going on? [Last time in APJFM...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164423584010/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

When you wake up the next morning, the notebook is on the nightstand next to the bed. Sans was here! He must have dropped by to check if you'd found your handbag. You've suspected he's come by the apartment while you slept before, but now it's certain. Initially, you're a little weirded out by the idea. Maybe he just came by to write a note and left immediately, but he could have just as easily stayed here for hours, watching you sleep, and you really have no idea which it was. But you're also startled by how pleased part of you is. Sans being interested in you, even outside of the time you agreed on, is an idea that gives you a pleasant thrill in your tummy. Did he stand right there and admire how cute you were when you were sleeping? Maybe he fantasized about taking you as you slept, forcing himself on you at your most vulnerable? If he had actually done so, you'd have felt terrified and betrayed... but in the light of day, you find the idea turning you on. It's a fantasy you've entertained before, and you imagine him pinning you down, thrusting into you as you moan for him, only half-conscious. Now you're so aroused that you're tempted to get yourself off... but the notebook is right there, calling to you.

The newest entry is dated 2:30 AM this morning and reads:

\- glad you thought to come back here. happy to help.

\- of course, i AM a freelancer, and my help comes with a price...

\- base rate: five kisses

\- 'that little fucker could really run' fee: two kisses 

\- 'i rather enjoy teaching dumbass gangster wannabes a lesson anyway' discount: minus one kiss

\- 'the hell does she keep in there, bricks?' fee: two kisses

\- 'she's my human and i probably shouldn't be gouging her' discount: minus one kiss 

\- total fee for returning one handbag: seven kisses

\- i'll be there at four. wear that bright red lipstick i like. 

You giggle as you read through the pricing structure. He's undercharging you. You're so delighted to have your handbag back that you'll cover his skull with kisses _and_ fuck his brains out... or his magic, or whatever. The point is, by the time you're done with him you'll have amply conveyed your gratitude. Now you're quite turned on. How much time do you have before you need to leave to see --

Sasha. Oh yeah.

Your good mood evaporates as you remember what happened yesterday morning. She'd been so shaken by the revelation that the two of you could have avoided all the misery of the past six years that she'd wanted to be alone... or rather, she'd rejected you. With a whole day and night to contemplate your myriad failures, no doubt she's worked herself into a foul, self-righteous mood. How can you explain yourself to her? Your status as substitute mother, sitting at some uneasy place between friend and authority figure, means that she often tunes you out or rebels against you as it is. Will she even try to understand your point of view?

You're tempted to hide in bed, but you said you'd come back this morning, so you go through the motions of dressing, eating and heading up to the surface, a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach the entire time. Someone's left a newspaper in the aerial tram, and you skim it on the way to the terminal. More gangsters shooting at each other -- one incident in Onett Park, you notice with dismay, far too near your apartment. It's the one year anniversary of the Baby Kitty kidnapping case, and there's pictures of the girl and her family. She's now three years old and seemingly untouched by her trauma, although her mother, a famous actress, and her father, a well-known politician, both still look a decade older than their actual ages. The Krakens lost again. Of course. 

You leave the newspaper for the next passenger and shamble off the aerial tram onto the light rail, your heart feeling heavier and heavier every second. What does it all matter, if Sasha hates you? You've devoted your life to her... you've tried so hard, you don't know if you've done a good job but at least you tried... but maybe she can't see things your way. She's only just turned fifteen, and as smart as she is, she's still self-centered, with a chip on her shoulder about her past that she always denies is even there.

The gleaming Concourse buildings and beautiful fall foliage barely even register as you gaze absently out the window. She's going to be impossible, you just know it. She's going to bring up every bad thing that happened to the two of you underground, as if you weren't there, as if you didn't spend the better part of yesterday cataloging them and ranking them on a scale of one to ten where one is pricking your fingers doing constant piecework and ten is the barrel of a gun pointed at your head...

As you knock on the door to her room, your stomach scrunches up inside your belly, and your throat feels dry. But she looks guilty when she sees you, and she puts her arms out for a hug. "I'm so sorry I freaked out yesterday... I shouldn't have pushed you like that. And I completely understand why you went underground. I'd have done the same thing if I was you."

You hug her back, feeling dazed. "Uh... really?"

"Well, yeah! You must have been like, I thought this guy was my friend and he's actually a scheming scoundrel. You were in trouble and it would have been easy for him to help you, right? But he thought it was a good time to make a move on you, when you'd lost everything? I mean, that's despicable!"

You take a deep breath as you sit down. "That was my thought process, yes." 

"You didn't know how bad things would be underground, because you didn't know about the papers smearing you and you expected at least one person to help us."

"I really did believe someone would," you say quietly.

"You couldn't help it that I got whitepox. That's just wishful thinking, acting like nothing bad would have ever happened if we'd stayed. Maybe I would have got thrown off a horse and broken my neck instead. There's no way to know."

Rationally or irrationally, you've been blaming yourself for Sasha's illness ever since it became clear just how severe it was. But she's absolving you so casually that tears come to your eyes. "I, uh... I dunno, maybe..." you mumble, brushing them away.

"Aw, come on," she says, looking worried. "Don't cry, ok? I mean... I get it now! That's why you sold yourself to that murdery pervert, isn't it? You thought it was your fault this whole time..."

You start crying harder. "You thought so too..."

"I was being stupid," she says, gesturing dismissively. "I'm sorry... I acted like a jerk. Stop crying, ok? I hate it when you cry."

You sniffle as you wipe your eyes, trying to get yourself back under control. "I'm sorry too... I should have told you what happened." 

"I shouldn't have made you! I knew you didn't want to. Considering... everything you've done for me," she says with a pained expression, "I should have kept my big mouth shut. Here, c'mere." She puts her arms out for another hug. You embrace her, and she pats your back as another round of sobs shakes your body. She's still so frail... You've started thinking of her release from the hospital as a "when," not an "if," but that "when" feels so far away.

Eventually your crying subsides, and she gives you one more pat before releasing you. You wipe your face with your handkerchief as she looks out the window and sighs. "Honestly, though, everything makes more sense now. But I hate that you thought you had to go _that_ far, just because you felt guilty..."

"I just wanted you to be comfortable," you say, looking down at your feet. "I'd run up a lot of debt. More than I'd told you about. And I was a wreck. I couldn't concentrate on anything. I knew you were -- that it wasn't looking good. I just felt like I needed to do what I could."

"So you made a deal with the devil..."

"Well, that's about the most melodramatic possible way of putting it," you say with a weak grin. "This thing with Stepstool Man really worries you, doesn't it?"

"I can't stand it," she groans. "It sounded kind of romantic when I thought it was, like, the Prime Minister or a baseball player or something." She scowls as she continues "But it's this horrible _creep_ who gets off on whacking people and buying women."

"Sasha, I promise you he's not as bad as you think..." Your face lights up as you continue, "Would you believe, someone stole my purse yesterday and he got it back for me?"

Her scowl deepens. "Sure. He probably set the whole thing up. Got one of his criminal buddies to grab it so he could look like a hero."

"You're being paranoid," you say, rolling your eyes. "Look, he got me a new sketchbook and colored pencils--"

She scoffs as you reach for your handbag. "That's what, one buck, two bucks? Ooh! Big spender!"

You put your handbag back down, take a deep breath and count to ten. 

"He cheered me up yesterday. He saw how sad I was and he just sat with me and told me jokes."

She looks as if she's swallowed a worm. "Well... I guess that was nice of him," she allows after a minute, her voice subdued. 

"He really _isn't_ the kind of person you think he is," you insist. "I mean, yes, I know he carries a gun, I know he's dangerous, but he's also thoughtful, he's funny, he, uh..." He turns you on, but you'll gloss over that. "I know it's not the best situation, but I feel like I can trust him."

"Oh, come on," she says, shaking her head. "You can't trust yourself right now!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've obviously got a crush on him. Don't ask me why, but you do," she says in a long-suffering tone. "Crushes make people stupid, and no offense, but you're being stupid. I mean, it's like he's got you on a leash. A rational person would be like --" She tugs at an imaginary collar around her neck, making exaggerated choking noises. "'Oh no! Get this thing off of me!' But you, you're licking his shoes and doing tricks for him..."

Oh God. If Sasha knew how much the image of Sans putting a leash on you and making you lick his shoes turned you on, she would never stop vomiting. Your face feels hot as you fire back with "He does _not_ have me on a leash. And even if I did have a tiny crush on him--" Sasha scoffs, but you ignore it and continue "That doesn't mean I've lost my head! Come on, Sasha. You know me better than that."

"Thought I did," she grumbles. "Then you're like, 'Oh, he's not _so_ bad!'" She pitches her voice comically high and makes exaggerated gestures. "'He just carries a _teeny_ little gun, I _barely_ notice it, he hasn't got me killed _yet_...'"

You sigh, leaning over and rubbing your forehead. Reminding Sasha that you took the deal with Sans in a desperate attempt to save her life would have the emotional effect of punching her in the gut... but it would, at least, make her shut up about Stepstool Man for ten minutes. Still, you'd rather not play that card. "Can we talk about something else, _please_?"

"How 'bout those Krakens?"

"Lost last night. 2-10."

"2-10? Wow." She pauses for a second, then continues, "Papa would have had a lot to say about that." She pitches her voice lower in a decent imitation of your father. "'If they had the capacity for shame, they'd take their bats, uniforms and salaries right down to the pitcher's mound and start a huge bonfire.'"

You giggle as you join in with the second half of your father's usual judgment. "'Then they should hold hands around it and pray for forgiveness. Ol' Teddy and Frank are rolling in their graves right now.'"

"Poor ol' Teddy and Frank," Sasha giggles. "Whoever they were."

It's been a while since the two of you remembered the past like this. The happy memories of those you've lost are colored with the pain and misery caused by their deaths. But here on the surface, your sister seeming a little stronger each day, it feels more natural to remember the good times.

Your expression softens as you continue, "And then when Matty was a kid, he'd always say, 'Don't worry Papa! When I grow up, I'll play for the Krakens and turn them right around!'"

Sasha scoffs. "I'm sure Mama loved that."

"Oh, yeah. She'd be like, 'No son of mine is going to go down there to chase a silly ball up and down the bases,'" you say in your mother's high, affected voice. 

Sasha laughs until she has a coughing fit. She looks more like your mother than you do, but you do an excellent imitation of her. "Did Papa ever try to tell her that's not how baseball works?"

"Nah, that would have been a losing battle," you answer with a grin. "He just was like, 'If Matty turned out to be good they'd trade him away anyway. Because the Kraken managers--"

Sasha joins in, and you complete your father's common refrain together. "'-- couldn't pour piss out of a boot if there were instructions written on the heel!'" You both dissolve into laughter.

"When Matty and I were kids, she'd get so mad at Papa for saying that in front of us," you say. "'Nathaniel, don't be so vulgar!' And that only made us want to hear him say it again..."

"So that's why she gave up by the time I came around, huh?" Sasha says, grinning.

The two of you laugh at the memory, and you feel so relieved. Yesterday you'd despaired, but today, once again, it's you and your sister against the world.

"I'm, uh, I'm glad you thought things over," you say after a minute. "I was worried you'd be... well, I thought you might be really mad at me."

"I was," Sasha admits. "I was feeling like you nearly got yourself killed just because you were idealistic and stupid, and I thought... maybe you cared about your pride more than me." You flinch, and she hurries to add "But I see now, it was a lot more complicated than that."

"Yeah, it was..."

"I mean, you told me Jerren said horrible things to you, but I thought you were just exaggerating to get me on your side. But, uh, then he told me what he said..."

"What?"

Sasha looks uncomfortable as she says "He came back to check on me, yesterday night. We ended up talking about it..."

You scowl. "Yeah? Did he tell you how he called Matty too stupid to live? How he called Mama a miserable slut? How I shouldn't come crying to him when --"

"When you're whoring yourself out to monsters," she says in a small voice. "Yeah. He told me everything." 

"And that's why you believe me now? Just because _he_ told you I wasn't lying?"

Sasha looks miserable, shrinking down into the bed. "I never thought you were lying," she mumbles. "I just, uh, I didn't get it, that's all."

Too damn right she didn't get it. You've always tried to be honest with her, and she just discounts that because she was angry?

While you're fuming, she continues "I understand now, though. You thought he was some kind of psychopath, right?"

"Thought, nothing," you grumble.

"And he didn't do a thing to help us, even though he loved you..."

Sasha's casual statement cuts through the swirl of your angry thoughts, and you blink. "Uh. What?"

"He loved you. He admitted it." Sasha's eyes brighten, and she perks up. "And I know it's shitty that he pulled, like, this romance novel villain move, but I can't help but feel a little sorry for him. On one hand, talk about entitled, right? On the other hand, he kind of tried to keep you with him, didn't he? Just in this creepy, spoiled way..."

Ordinarily you'd scold her about her language at this point. But you're taken aback by what she said. "Wait. I knew he liked me but I didn't know that he, uh... he thought he loved me. Was he trying to justify himself to you by saying he loved me?"

"No, no. He told me you made the right choice! He didn't try to justify himself at all. He was telling me about what it was probably like for you, back then. And what he used to be like, and how you'd trusted him, and how he'd destroyed that trust and was so cruel to you when you turned him down. How he'd hurt your arm, said horrible things to you and probably scared you to death. He was here for like two hours, talking about how he used to be incredibly spoiled and manipulative, and all the mistakes he made."

"So you're seriously telling me that Jerren sat here and trashed himself? For _two hours_? Just so you'd understand why I went underground?"

"Basically."

You lean back and laugh, feeling hysterical. "That's the weirdest thing I ever heard. I would have never expected him to do something like that."

Sasha looks thoughtfully at you. "It's not like you expected him to apologize either."

You sigh. "Definitely not."

"And he sure sounded like he meant it..."

"Surprisingly enough, I thought so too..."

"Do you think maybe he really has changed? I mean, it's not like I knew him before, but... it seems like he's really thought about his mistakes."

"You keep forgetting, he knows how to say what people want to hear..." But you don't quite say it with the conviction you did earlier. Sasha wouldn't have accepted all the reasons you had for coming underground. She thought you were exaggerating out of self-interest or guilt, and she was feeling put-upon and unlucky. But those same arguments seem to have had a lot of weight coming from Jerren... He abased himself to her, just to patch things up between the two of you. Is this all some sort of manipulation, to make you think he's changed? Or... is he truly trying to make amends to you?

"We talked about that too. I think he's hurt that you think he's faking it, though he says he'd probably think the same thing if he was you." She smiles impishly. "If you ask me, he still likes you."

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. "That makes no sense. Yesterday was the first time I'd seen him in years! I seriously doubt I'm that memorable."

"I think you're memorable."

"You see me every day." This makes her smile as you continue "And it's not like I'm his type... We might have been friendly at one point, but he's into the kind of girl who's real bubbly, someone who's the life of the party and amuses him --"

"You mean he likes airheads," Sasha says smugly.

You roll your eyes. "No, that's not what I mean."

"So maybe he remembers you because you're not his type," she presses. "He's intrigued by a woman so unlike any he's ever met..."

"I _really_ doubt that," you grumble. And yet, there is that poem he wrote. It had been published earlier this month, before you brought Sasha up to the surface... before your paths had crossed again. You don't _know_ that it's about you, but... that's modesty and denial talking. Face it, it's about you. You don't need to mention this piece of supporting evidence to Sasha, though. You shake your head. "If there's any reason he remembers me, it's because I said no to him. That's not love. That's just proof that he ought to hear the word 'no' more often."

Sasha giggles. "Well, maybe," she says. But she doesn't seem convinced.

So Jerren and Sasha talked over your motivations for going underground instead of taking his offer... but didn't touch on all of them. Should you tell Sasha that you suspect Jerren had something to do with what happened to your family? That he wanted you in his power because you'd once defied and humiliated him?

If you'd been honest with her from the start, maybe she wouldn't have placed her trust in him... On the other hand, you have no proof whatsoever. And given how she's gone and told you about her conversations with him, what if she turned around and told him about your suspicions? 

Sasha's voice claiming that Jerren trusted her more than you did rings through your head, and you grimace at the memory. That accusation was downright dirty... but you can see where she was coming from. You don't feel comfortable confiding in anyone, and if you're being honest, that includes her. You still keep seeing her as the little kid to whom you have to play substitute mother... plus, these memories are so painful that you don't like revisiting them at all, much less arranging them for someone else to understand. But what did that get you? You choked when you should have explained yourself, and wound up with Jerren explaining your motivations better than you did. As difficult as it is for you, you need to be more open with her. You steel yourself.

"At that party... he told me, he'd never forget what I'd done..."

This just makes her grin. "Like I said, right? Memorable."

"No, I mean... uh... later on, when he made me that offer... I... well, I wondered if he... if he was somehow connected to all of it. What happened to our family, I mean."

This gives her pause. "Like... you think he just asked you as some sort of revenge?"

"Yeah. But more than that... I mean, I thought maybe... he helped set up Mama because of me."

She raises her eyebrows at this. "You know that sounds completely paranoid, right?"

"Yeah, I do..."

"I mean, who'd frame a woman for _treason_ because her daughter messed up his birthday party?" 

"I know you think it sounds ridiculous, but... Sasha, you weren't there. You don't understand how terrifying he was. The way he threatened me, I remember thinking making an enemy of him may have been the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life. Then later, when I realized how he'd backed me into a corner, I remembered what he'd said and... well, it just seemed to make sense."

Even to you it sounds weak, but she seems to be considering it, her expression troubled. But then she shakes her head. "You seriously think he held a grudge against you for three years? Sure he was mad at you, but he got over it and you became friends! He even fell for you, right?"

"So you say..."

"So _he_ says," Sasha corrects you with a knowing grin. "Isn't that how these stories are supposed to go? The hero and heroine always hate each other at first! She shakes up his world and challenges him, they can't stop thinking about each other, they eventually discover a different side of each other and bam! Kisses, wedding bells and happily ever after! Right?"

You never hated Sans...

Your expression must soften as the thought crosses your mind, because Sasha smirks. "See? You know what I'm talking about," she says, poking your arm.

"That's not how it was," you protest.

"You sure about that, 'chickie'?"

You scowl. "I hated that name."

This only makes her smile more. "See what I mean? Hate comes first! I mean, didn't some part of you secretly kind of like it?"

"Nope."

She rolls her eyes. "Come on! You're seriously telling me the Courtyard's most eligible bachelor fell for you, and you _never_ had even a little teeny crush on him?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," you say with a wry smile. "I thought of Jerren as my friend, but that was all..." You pause. Being honest, remember? "I mean... I _was_ flattered that someone as important as him kept paying attention to me, even though I was pretty cold to him. I liked that he became a good friend to Matty, and I was grateful that he made a point of supporting our family after Mama was arrested. And I did enjoy his company, after a while. I don't know, something about him, it's hard to resist..."

"I can understand that. He _is_ charming. And cute. You gotta admit he's cute."

"Yeah, I'll give you cute," you say grudgingly. "But every time I wondered if maybe I could like him that way, I remembered what happened at that party... and the way he looked when he was killing those monsters."

Sasha's eyes narrow. "How d'ya think Stepstool Man looks when _he's_ killing people?"

Terrifying, no doubt. A chill goes up your spine, but you snap "That's not the point. The point is, Jerren and I were friends, but I never really felt like I was in love with him..."

"No, the point is that he was in love with you. But, uh... it's not like he could have married you after what happened with Mama, right?"

The idea makes you smile wryly. "It would have been a hard sell even before the whole Courtyard thought of our family as a bunch of deviant traitors."

"So... maybe he honestly thought he was doing the next best thing. I mean, men are dumb sometimes." She says it with as much worldliness as if she had five divorces under her belt, instead of one boyfriend who was a bad kisser, and you can't help but grin.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it... it's just, I feel like I saw his true nature," you say quietly. "Twice, now. And I really do believe something about him is _not_ right." 

Sasha frowns. "Don't you think you're being kind of harsh? Just because you saw him at his worst, doesn't mean he's some sort of bad seed. Everyone makes mistakes, but there's good in him, too, you know?"

You lean back and sigh. "Well, maybe..."

She might not agree with your conclusion, but at least she heard you out. You try a different tack. "The stories about me in the underground papers... they didn't start showing up until after I'd turned him down."

"Circumstantial evidence," Sasha answers, but she looks troubled. "I mean, lots of people were angry about what Mama did, right? You can't blame everything on him..."

"True, I don't have any proof," you say, shaking your head.. "But you have to admit the timing is suspicious."

"Yeah," she says, frowning. "I hope you're wrong, though. I mean, it seemed like everyone was acting like you were guilty of something. I remember being terrified Stefanson was going to lock you up, too. Maybe it was him."

You shudder. Stefanson, the head of Courtyard security, had taken your mother's supposed treason as personally as if she'd slapped his wife and kicked his dog. His opinion of you had been low ever since Jerren's seventeenth birthday party, and he'd made no secret of his opinion that even though he couldn't prove your guilt, you must be equally culpable in some way. It's certainly plausible that he could have taken his frustrations out on your reputation.

The two of you are quiet as you consider the past. Finally she says "I get that Jerren was awful to you. Like, he told me what he said about you and our family, and I just about ripped his head off myself. But he's sorry... he's trying to make things right. Don't you think that even the worst person can change?"

No, your intuition insists. Not him. But maybe Sasha is right, and you're being unfair? He's apologized, he's been honest about how awful he was... It sure seems like he really is trying. How would you know the difference between true remorse and coldhearted manipulation? You lean back in your chair and take a deep breath. "I'd like to think so. But that's what I told myself the first time, too..."

She seems to take this as a victory, smiling as she lays back in bed and closes her eyes. "Well... just give it some thought, all right?" 

As she drifts off to sleep, that's precisely what you do.

Had Jerren once truly believed himself to be in love with you? The idea troubles you all afternoon, as you make your way back underground and have a late lunch at your apartment. He might have convinced Sasha... perhaps he even convinced himself... but the more you think about it, the more you simply can't believe it. He might have liked you, he might have had a crush on you... but how could someone say they loved you, then try to take advantage of you, hurt you and abandon you for years? Whatever he considered his own feelings to be, you could hardly consider such behavior to indicate any sort of real love for you. The only thing you should ever pay attention to is what a man _does_ , your mother had lectured you more than once. Jerren would have failed her test... had she still been around by then. 

No, whatever Sasha might think you're sure it wasn't love, it was the novelty of encountering someone who'd once stood up to him and who had a tendency to keep herself rather aloof from him. Your mother had thought you were playing hard to get; a natural coquette herself, she'd approved of the strategy. But your feelings had been genuine... and who knows, maybe that had been exactly what Jerren had been responding to. For someone like him, perhaps chasing after someone who truly didn't want to be caught was novel enough to be confused for love, back when he was younger.

Yet, his new-found penitence preys on your mind... He's making all the right moves: apologizing, owning up to all he did, thinking about other people instead of himself. And your sister thinks he genuinely has some sort of feelings for you? It'd be easier to discount if not for that poem he wrote. If you're being honest with yourself, it's clearly about you. It alludes in the most subtle ways to your situation, your family and even to memories the two of you shared. At the time he wrote it, you hadn't even dreamed of bringing Sasha to the surface hospital... except for in your wildest fantasies.

If all of this is an act, it's certainly a good one. Which in and of itself is very much like Jerren, you remind yourself. You well remember several times where you thought to yourself, this guy is just a little too smooth, a little too perfect. Things always go right for him, somehow. More than once, you've entered a conversation with him with your guard up, but ended up feeling rather warmly toward him, or agreeing to whatever it was he wanted... then wondering, afterwards, how exactly he managed to wind you around his little finger like that. Maybe he really _can_ see the future... or maybe it's just the effect of growing up with money, status, good looks and perfect confidence. Still, maybe you're being unkind, assuming that you can't trust even his most sincere apologies or indications of true self-reflection. God knows the past six years have changed you... Perhaps he's grown up, too?

Feeling unsettled, you head over to meet Sans, arriving a little early. You smile as you reread the note he left you this morning... then you read it again a few more times. Thoughts of him, and what he's going to do to you tonight, banish your anxieties about your past life and your sister. For now you think only of arranging yourself beautifully -- and of course, applying the lipstick he particularly likes.

At a quarter until four, you put on some music and start experimenting with your new colored pencils. You blend a gradient of blue to purple, enjoying the feel of the high-quality pencils and paper. You have a little time still, and you decide to start drawing something as a thank you present for Sans. What, though? You still know very little about him personally. He likes music, movies and jokes, which doesn't give you a whole lot to go on... perhaps you could draw some tuna, glue and a piano for him?

There was the time he teleported you to the monster district. You smile as you remember the scene... the bright lights below you, the fascinating monsters and buildings, that park in the distance. It'll use up half of your new black colored pencil, but it'll be worth it. You start sketching out the scene. Hopefully he'll forgive lapses in reality, as it's an impression of the moment, not a map. 

Four o'clock. Any minute now, he'll be by to collect those seven kisses. You smile as you sketch the two of you as shadowy figures on the roof in the lower-left hand corner.

Four-ten. That's not exactly _late_ yet. 

Four-fifteen. You'd consider this late, but maybe he wouldn't? He's probably just finishing something up. A conversation, or a job perhaps.

Four-thirty. Maybe it's a conversation with someone he can't easily offend. You picture him leaning back in his chair, daydreaming about your ass as some gang leader keeps blathering on.

Four forty-five. What kind of conversation could take this long? Maybe he wrote four when he meant five. You press the colored pencil hard into the paper, channeling your anxiety into a dark sky.

Five o'clock. He'll be here any minute now, you think as you dot the street below with tiny lights. It could have been just some job that went a little longer than he thought it would, but he's no doubt finishing it up, impatient to collect his fee from you.

Five-thirty. Or not. Did something happen? As soon as you allow yourself to think this, you shrink from the thought. Surely not. When you expressed concern for him, he treated it like a joke. As if worrying about someone like _him_ is a complete and total waste of time. He's almost certainly fine, wherever he is, you think as you add some detail to the two of you.

Of course, that's what Louis told you, when his gang got involved in a war and you and Sasha went with him and his sister to a supposed safe house. Everything's going to be just fine. And, well... You shudder. But Sans isn't Louis... He has magic, for one thing! He knows what he's doing.

You hope.

Six o'clock. You lean back in your chair and sigh. One more hour to go. Maybe he'll at least pop in to let you know he can't be here today. Or he'll show up at six-thirty, like he did the other day. Or... 

No, no. He's fine. 

Six-thirty. He's fine, he's fine, you tell yourself, quite sure that he is _not_ fine. He says he has ways of dealing with situations that would be fatal for other monsters, but... Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, and even he admits he still has a monster's vulnerabilities. How do you know he's not a pile of blue dust right now? You envision some gangster's expensive shoe kicking right through it, sending bits of Sans' essence flying into the street.

No -- stop that. He's _fine_.

When Sans set up this arrangement, he said himself that it might be tough for you when you expected him and he didn't show up. In other words, he expected there to be days like this, and he thought you might do just what you're doing now. He'd asked you outright if you could deal with this exact situation. You'd hardly given the question any thought before answering that you could.

But who knew you'd start to like the guy this much?

He's _fine_ , you tell yourself again, staring at your picture. You'd told him so confidently that you were equal to the situation... that even if he was gone a week, you wouldn't spend the whole time fretting about him. Wherever he is right now, whatever he's doing... if he's thinking about you at all, he's telling himself that he doesn't have to worry about you. After all, you said yourself you could handle uncertainty.

Can you? 

You take a deep breath and start coloring again. He can take care of himself. He set this up with you because he thought that you could deal with it. So _deal_ with it.

You can do that, right? He thought you could. You thought you could.

You _can_ deal with it, you _will_ deal with --

The pencil lead snaps under the pressure you're putting on it, leaving a dark red smear on a brick building. "Great," you grumble, trying to cover up your mistake.

Six forty-five. Your whole body feels tense as you glance from your drawing to the clock then back, again and again. He's fine... he's certainly not a pile of dust somewhere... no, he's fine... it's not possible for someone to have captured him somehow, not when he can teleport... no, he must be fine, because as far as you know there's no easy way to drain a monster of magic, although what do you know anyway? Basically nothing... but he must be fine, he knows what he's doing...

What is he doing, anyway? It was obvious from the start that whatever work he actually does, it's not pretty, and reading the part in that book about him didn't precisely weaken that impression. Being honest with yourself, you think he really might be a hit man. Some morbidly curious part of yourself wants to know if you're right, even though your sensible side is trying to convince you that you may better off not hearing the details. You knew when you took the deal that you were taking dirty money... Sasha's life was at stake, but that doesn't mean you're comfortable with what you've done. Still, maybe his work isn't _quite_ so bad as you're thinking... Maybe it'd be better just to know, and get it over with.

Well, whatever he's doing, he's certainly fine. You continue drawing.

Six fifty-five. You did tell him that as long as he showed up within the time you'd agreed on, he could keep you as late as he liked. Maybe he's going to show up in the next five minutes and make use of that little loophole?

Six fifty-six.

Six fifty-seven.

Six fifty-eight.

Six fifty-nine.

Six fifty-nine and fifteen seconds.

Six fifty-nine and thirty seconds.

Six fifty-nine and forty-five seconds.

And... seven o'clock. 

Three hours, and not a word from Sans... But maybe his pocket watch is slow?

Seven ten. No... he's just plain not coming. Anxiety weighs heavily in your belly. You're free to go, now. But you're not done with your picture yet.

You work until seven-thirty. The finished drawing fills you with pride; it's been a long time since you worked that hard on a piece of art and created something you felt so good about. You reach for the green colored pencil and sharpen it one last time, to sign your name. The tip hovers over the paper as you decide what to write. It doesn't feel right to sign your call girl name to something you've poured yourself into... But you haven't told him your real name yet, or technically, the name you've given yourself and consider your real name. 

You _could_ , part of you whispers.

No... he's buying a fantasy. It's probably all the same to him, what your real name is.

You leave the drawing unsigned and close the sketchbook. Then you take the notebook and start to write. 

\- I missed you tonight, Sans...

\- I know you said there'd be times like these, so I'm trying not to worry. But I do worry, a little bit. (You said I could.) So I'm just thinking of you tonight and hoping that you're safe. Please don't think that I'm trying to make you feel guilty for not being here -- I knew days like this would be part of the deal, and I know there's probably nothing to worry about. I just have an active imagination.

\- What is it that you do? "Freelancer" covers such a wide range of possibilities. I'm guessing, given the clues available to me, that you might not like to tell me the details. I understand. But I'd like a general idea, if you can share that. As I said, I have an active imagination, and the stories I'm telling myself are probably worse than reality.

\- Thank you again for the sketchbook and colored pencils. They're both excellent quality, and so much fun to work with! I drew a picture for you as a thank-you present. I hope you like it.

It's long enough to feel like a letter. How should you finish it? Sincerely? Yours? All best? Love? Definitely not that, you think, feeling a flush of embarrassment. And, again, which name do you even use? You end up deciding that you may as well get some use out of the makeup he likes. You've worn your lipstick away by biting and licking your lips out of anxiety, so you reapply it and kiss the paper, leaving a crimson lipstick print as a signature.

By now, it's seven-forty five. For as much as he's paying you, you could at least wait until eight...

Who are you kidding, you think to yourself with a sheepish grin. You didn't draw that picture because he's paying you... you didn't leave a kiss as a signature because he's paying you... and you don't want to wait until eight because he's paying you. Sasha's right... Even knowing what a bad idea it is, you've developed a full-blown crush on this guy. Well... so what if you have? It's just a crush, you tell yourself. It doesn't mean you don't know how things _really_ are. 

Eight comes and goes. Well, that's it for your work day, such as it is. But it's so late already, you convince yourself. What's the point of walking back to your own apartment this late at night? Maybe you'd just get your purse stolen again, and it was improbable enough Sans was there to help last time, you'd be on your own this time for sure. Besides, it's not like there's anything all that great about your own place. There's food here, there's a comfy bed... Might as well spend the night.

After dinner and a shower, you attempt to relax yourself with a glass of echo wine, then another. It doesn't work. Sans had said it had a reputation for making people chatty, but drinking alone like this, even accompanied by records that are pointedly not from your family's collection, it just makes you maudlin and your thoughts increasingly dark. This is never going to work out if you go to pieces the first time he's not here when you expect him, but... 

You keep revisiting a collection of memories, all carefully selected and burnished. The way he held your hand to his sternum, that first time, and wanted you to stay with him... The time when he helped you up from under that bench, your terror at the sound of gunfire turning into gratitude and secret delight... His fingers on your wrist as he felt your pulse... The way he caressed your ass before delivering a satisfying spanking, then rubbed lotion on it afterward... How he'd pretended like he had no way of possibly bypassing the sash on your robe, the same one you're wearing now... How he'd smiled at you as he'd told you those jokes... 

He can't be dead, he just can't be, because you're just starting to get to know him and... 

You already like him so damn much...

Maybe it really is dangerous being around you, you think, and your already gloomy mood goes into a tailspin as you curl up on the couch. Is that really possible, to be some sort of living portent of doom? You stare at the record player. Most of your family is gone... Sasha very nearly joined them... Louis and Marie were murdered... And now Sans? 

What if everything you touch really _does_ turn to dust?

Your brain spins out visions of Sans' death. Maybe he'd been ambushed by a bunch of gangsters, too many to handle at once... Maybe he'd let down his guard, and hadn't noticed the assassin nearby... Maybe the sniper in the next building over had lined up the perfect shot... Maybe right now, triumphant gangsters were congratulating each other, spitting on Sans' essence, grinding it under their heels...

You get up from the couch, hugging yourself and pacing back and forth. Maybe -- maybe it'd be on the news, if something happened to him. You put the record back in its sleeve and turn on the radio instead, then resume your pacing. It feels like it takes forever for the top of the hour to happen... and there's no news about Sans whatsoever. A series of raids on speakeasies... the possibility of the miracle whitepox cure from the surface being made available underground... the Krakens lost, again...

Maybe he was caught up in one of those raids? He did say you could call him a regular at speakeasies... Maybe he'd been leaning back, closing his eyes as he enjoyed a shot of the whiskey he likes, and the vice squad chose that moment to strike...

Stop it, stop it, _stop it_ , you lecture yourself. You're letting your imagination get out of control. That book made it sound like he was notorious enough that if he died, it'd make the news... right?

You lay back down on the couch, curling up. The odds are good that he's perfectly fine. He flat-out _told_ you this was going to be happen. He'll be here tomorrow. This line of thought gives you some measure of comfort... until a new idea hits you. 

You've been assuming he had some sort of job that went wrong... that he's in danger. 

What if he just forgot about you? What if he found someone else to spend the evening with?

The thought of Sans dead or in trouble is distressing enough as it is, but picturing him with another woman wrenches your heart in a whole different way. Especially because -- as some completely unhelpful part of your brain tells you -- that may actually be more likely. Whatever it is Sans does, he's clearly good at it... he didn't get the kind of money or reputation he has by screwing up all the time. And he's also rather good at dealing with human women, or at least with you. He can be quite charming... and he knows his way around a human female body... 

You agreed not to have anyone else in the picture, while the deal was on. But he certainly made the human he bought no such promises. When it comes right down to it, he owes you one thing: an envelope full of money on the first of the month. 

Just as you were convinced ten minutes ago that Sans was a pile of dust in an alley somewhere, now you're just as convinced that he's out there somewhere licking the cheek of some lovely human girl. Maybe he spent all evening chatting with her, buying her drinks, telling her jokes. Now it's paid off, he's cupping her breasts in his hands, pinning her to the bed, forming his cock and...

You feel sick to your stomach, and your eyes feel hot. Here you are, waiting for Sans so loyally, and for all you know he's out banging some other girl without a single thought for you. Tears start streaming down your face as you realize that the worst part is he'd be perfectly within his rights! It's not like he asked you out on a date, even though he certainly had the opportunity. He might be easy-going, charming even, but first and foremost he sees you as the call girl who showed up at his hotel room. He'd probably be surprised to know the woman he bought for sex would even _care_ if he was with someone else... 

But you do care... Sasha got her miracle cure, that's all you wanted out of this arrangement, and yet you can't stop crying because Sans is probably dead or with another woman.

Your past is a scandal, your family's gone, your sister's not out of the woods yet, the guy you don't like is writing poetry about you and trying to prove he's reformed while the guy you do like just thinks of you as a call girl and might be making some other woman call him master right now...

As you contemplate the shambles of your life, each thought brings on another round of tears, and by the time you've worn yourself out sleep comes as a blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! I'm still considering myself on semi-hiatus, so I'm afraid I can't tell you when you'll know if Sans is alive or dead. 
> 
> Do you have anything you'd like to ask the cast of APJFM? I'm celebrating 1000 kudos with [a question and answer session over on my tumblr!](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164423631880/ask-the-apjfm-cast-round-2) OK, we are not quite at 1000 kudos yet -- as I write this, we've hit 954 -- but I think I'll reach that milestone before chapter 18 is finished. Ask anyone anything you like... but I don't promise any answers, especially if you're talking to Sans. (Get too nosy and he very well may teleport away without a response.) [More details over here.](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164423631880/ask-the-apjfm-cast-round-2)
> 
> I took five questions a few weeks ago... so if you'd like to know if Sans intends to marry Reader, what Sasha would say to Stepstool Man if she met him, what Sans doesn't like about freelancing, what Sans' ambitions were as a young man and what Jerren's ideal sandwich is, then check out [the questions from round 1](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-cast-questions-round-1).
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for beta reading for me! This story wouldn't be the same without her. For example, in the first draft, Reader waiting for Sans wasn't much more complicated or emotional than "You wait for Sans for three hours, working on your drawing. But he doesn't show up, and you're really worried!" Her comments really made me think about how it would feel to wait like that. So, yeah, if you like having the knife twisted just a little more, thank her!
> 
> [yanderebunny303](https://yanderebunny303.tumblr.com/) made me a gorgeous piece of fanart for this chapter depicting [Reader's imagination going into overdrive](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/165100275095/yanderebunny303-for-neroli9-which-for-some). No wonder the poor girl got drunk off her ass, with images like _that_ going through her head! I love the details in the clothes and the expressions -- Reader's desperate, pained expression makes me smile every time I look at it.
> 
> Is Sans ever going to return for those seven kisses? Has Jerren truly reformed? Chapter 18 will answer... well, one of these questions. I don't know when it will be posted - give it at least a month, maybe two. Updates will be on my tumblr, [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's a [calendar up to chapter 17](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164423733950/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-17).


	18. four down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Need a refresher? [Last time in APJFM...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164885366165/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)
> 
> Would you like the full Reader experience? [Open up this link in a new tab](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164885337395/chapter-18-bonus-content). But don't look.... until Reader sees what Sans drew in the notebook. Or you can open it up at the relevant time in the text -- there's a link there too. See how quickly you can figure out four down, compared to Reader. (You'll probably do better than she does.)

Sans teleports into the apartment a little after eleven, his eye sockets wide.

* _am i really sensing it right? she's still here?_

You'd fallen asleep on the couch with your back to the room. The light is still on, and the bottle of echo wine is still on the coffee table, half empty next to your wineglass. He sits down at the table, turning his chair to look at you.

* _she actually stayed here._

* _i thought i was making some kind of mistake, when i sensed her presence before i took a shortcut here. hallucinating or something due to exhaustion._

* _fuck. did she worry about me that much?_

* _i wondered if she might get anxious. but every minute counted if i was going to get those two back to asgore and tori safely._

* _she leave me a note...?_

He checks the notebook, and his grin widens.

* _the note's kind of restrained. not surprising, the most heartfelt emotion i've ever seen from her is when i got her handbag back._

* _but she clearly worried more than she wants to let on. it's touching, actually._

* _and she wants to know what i do._

* _i didn't intend to discuss that side of my life with her. didn't think it was her business, and i doubted she wanted to know anyway. but maybe i ought to give her the overview. it's not really a secret, and it's better she's asking me than asking around._

* _she's too sharp not to wonder, and she's right, what she's imagining is probably worse than reality. so i think she can handle it. if i'm wrong, i'd rather know sooner than later, get it over with._

* _she kissed the notebook, right here... wow that's cute. and where's this picture?_

He raises his eyebrows as he looks at the sketchbook.

* _that's us, that time i took her on a shortcut. and there's my district down below. it's like i'm seeing it how she saw it. as a magical, exciting place. it's astonishingly good._

* _we weren't even there for that long, i just wanted to give her a thrill and go somewhere we couldn't be seen. but this shows a real attention to detail. does she have a photographic memory? has she studied art? could be the former but i'm leaning toward the latter. the sketches showed training._

* _she didn't sign it. second time she wouldn't use a name tonight. maybe she's not ready to tell me her real name, but maybe she's not all that comfortable with her pseudonym either. she said it was a present for me? i guess i can take it back to my place. it'll brighten my room up._

* _sure wish she was awake, and could fuss over me a bit. i'm exhausted..._

He carefully tears out the picture, then sits down at the table with the notebook, starting to write. After he's written a few lines, he taps the pencil against the bone to the side of his mouth. He glances at the picture, over at you, then back at the notebook.

His grin widens, and he turns the page and starts drawing.

\------------

You're back at home. Your old home, your home in the Courtyard. But it's different. Even the layout is all different. If you didn't know for sure it was your home you'd think you'd never been there. Each room is filled to the ceiling with random junk and trash. It all once belonged to your family, and you know it's your responsibility even though you've never seen any of it before. Once you sort through it, once the house is empty, you can leave. That's when you can finally go to the garden, where your family's ashes were scattered. 

But there's so much trash that you have to contort yourself to move through thin trails from room to room, and there's countless spiderwebs lacing the piles together and roaches with long, curling antennae scurrying on the floor. The junk is worn out and useless, but if you can't sort it out before you run out of time you'll have to leave, you'll be barred from the garden. So you stuff old books, clothes and disgusting trash into bags. Your hands brush through spiderwebs, and you stomp on spiders and roaches. Sometimes you're wearing heavy boots with thick soles. Sometimes you're wearing your old dancing slippers with thin suede soles, so light you feel the bugs crunching underneath the balls of your feet. 

You find an old notebook that you know belonged to your brother, although you cannot read the name on the front. You can't read any of it, but you understand it's a story he wrote, and you try to read it, chasing memories of him. You want to go to him, you know somehow that Sasha is already there, but you can't leave until the junk is gone and there's so much, there's just so much --

Arms wrap around your back and legs, lifting you off the couch. Cold air, then a tingling sensation, hits your skin as you're jolted back to reality. You shiver and your eyes open halfway. "Sans?" you say blearily. You're disoriented by the dream, the dark room and the wine, but a thrill goes all through you, and you press your head against his ribcage as he lowers you onto the bed.

"shhh. didn't mean to wake you up."

"You're all right..."

"'course i am. go back to sleep." He pulls the covers over you.

"What happened?" you mumble.

"had to help out some friends. but i took care of it, ok?" He brushes your hair away from your face, and the touch of his hand on your forehead comforts you. 

He's safe... He's safe, and he came back here to check on you, he carried you back to bed like a little kid... There was nothing to worry about, was there? And the horrible piles of trash, it was all just a dream. Just another Courtyard dream, your subconscious dredging up old surroundings and anxieties. There's no junk to sort through after all... 

A peaceful feeling settles upon you. You curl up, smiling, and fall back asleep quickly. 

The next morning, the encounter feels like it had been part of your dream, but here you are, in bed instead of on the couch. Your throat is dry, and there's a persistent pounding in your skull. You pull the covers back over your head, groaning. What's the point of magical alcohol that still gives you a hangover? Although maybe you're better off than you would have been if you'd been drinking non-magical wine... 

You venture a glance at the alarm clock. Uh oh... Should have set an alarm, you really slept in. Shoot, Sasha is going to worry --

Seeing the notebook on the nightstand next to you chases away all other thoughts. Sans left you a note! You grab it and flip to the latest entry, dated late last night.

\- heya kid,

\- sorry i couldn't be there tonight. you're right that it's part of the deal, but i know it worried you. when i can i'll at least pop in to tell you what's going on, but there are going to be times when i can't even do that much. 

\- this was one of those times. but i'm fine, everything ended up well. 

\- your picture is beautiful. i'm impressed you remembered the scene so well. i'm putting it up on my wall. thank you.

\- and so you want to know what i do? finish the puzzle and i'll tell you. odds are really damn good i'll be there next time. you still owe me seven kisses.

Oh? 

[There's a crossword on the next page.](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164885337395/chapter-18-bonus-content)

Sans made a puzzle? For you?

Your eyes widen, and you can't help but smile in what's probably a very foolish way, rubbing your head as you study it. How long did this even take him? Your smile widens as you skim the clues. They all have to do with you, or with him. There's "ridiculous goddamn things human women wear on their feet," "color of your soul" and more.

You've got to hurry, Sasha's probably already anxious about where you are. But how can you let this wait until later? You tear it out of the notebook and fold it up, tucking it carefully into an inner pocket of your coat and zipping it up. Despite your hangover, you all but skip from the apartment to the terminal downtown. Perfect, it's late enough that no one else is on the aerial tram. You retrieve the folded paper from its pocket and study it, smiling at the slightly uneven lines and the instructions he's left you. His handwriting had, perhaps, struck you at one time as rather goofy but now appears charming to your eyes. 'treat two-word phrases as a single word with no spaces.' Easy enough. 'enjoy.' Oh yes. Yes, you will.

You're immediately drawn to the clue for four down: "i couldn't be there tonight because i stopped this from happening." It's a ten letter word, and there's enough other clues intersecting it that once you figure them out, you'll probably be able to guess this one.

You start by focusing on the clues that will help you with that ten-letter word. The first letter is also part of two across, 'you drew a kid riding one of these.' You fill in 'bike' to get the first letter of the word.

k _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Five across, 'where i'm from,' is easy enough. That's 'district one,' he'd mentioned that in the park. 

k _ d _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Three across, 'color of your soul,' is of course 'green.' 

k _ d n _ _ _ _ _ _

Seven across is 'your favored genre of music, god knows why.' You smile to yourself as you write 'opera.'

k _ d n _ p _ _ _ _

The last clue that intersects with the word is nine across, 'humans think our beer tastes like this.' It's 'medicine' of course, and the memory makes you screw up your face as you write it in. That gives you a second N.

k _ d n _ p _ _ n _

You look at the word for a moment. 

Oh!

 _Oh_.

You fill in the remaining letters in a rush.

k i d n a p p i n g

He foiled a kidnapping. That's why he couldn't be there.

You press the paper to your heart, taking a deep breath. All that night as you drew your scene for Sans, was he searching for the victim of a kidnapping? That could explain it. If he had a deadline, if there were threats, of course he wouldn't want to break his concentration for even five minutes. 

What even happened? What'd he write in the notebook again? He was fine, everything ended up well. So he found whoever he was looking for? Or he facilitated their return? Maybe someone had only threatened to take them, and he'd stopped it happening in the first place? Does he stop monster kidnappings? You did hear him on the phone that one time, after all, grumbling about surface humans. Or was this a human problem? He said he was helping his friends, did he know whoever it was who got kidnapped? Oh, now you've got even more questions than you had before... But for now, you fill out the rest of the clues. 

One across, 'the more depressing of my two favorite genres of music' must be 'blues.'

One down is 'i could be described as _______.' Eight letters, starts with the b from 'blues' and also has the b from 'bike' and an e from 'green.' What could Sans be described as that starts with a b? You grin as you get it, and you write down 'big boned.'

Six down is 'ya just can't piano a _____.' A 'tuna,' of course. 

Eight down is 'humans put this stuff on their wrists, it turns out.' You smile as you write 'perfume.'

Ten across is 'i have a habit of making these.' The second letter is the 'u' from perfume, so... yep, it's 'lucky guesses.' 

Eleven down is 'according to you, i'm better than an ______.' 'elevator,' of course. Jeez, he remembered that silly thing you said, you think with an embarrassed grin. 

Twelve across is 'i got you this to replace the one you dropped' - that must be 'nice cream.' 

Thirteen across is 'you're really quite an ____.' You raise your eyebrows. What's this one? Not 'whore,' don't let it be 'whore'... No, of course, the grammar doesn't fit. Six letters, it has to start with a vowel and the second letter is an R. Whew, you think, smiling wryly. There's one more word that intersects it, so you skip to that one first.

Fourteen down is 'ridiculous goddamn things human women wear on their feet.' That's 'high heels.' 

That gives you _ r _ i _ _ for thirteen across. And the first letter has to be a vowel...

An... artist? It fits... A thrill goes through your whole body, and you squirm in your seat with happiness. He liked your drawing that much? Wow... that's really flattering!

The tram is about to approach the terminal, and you fold the finished crossword back up with care, tucking it back in the inside coat pocket and zipping it up. You think about that puzzle the entire way to the hospital. What a sweet thing to make for you... 

No, you shouldn't read too much into it, you lecture yourself. Didn't that book say that making puzzles was a popular monster pastime? Maybe for monsters, delivering messages by drawing out little crosswords and coming up with personalized clues is about as meaningful as picking out a nice birthday card and writing a little note might be for humans. It was probably just a way for him to relax, after his stressful day. He probably makes puzzles for all his friends. Not that you're friends exactly. He's paying you to be his human. It really won't do for you to lose your head and forget that fact just because he spent a few minutes making you a puzzle... and because he referred to conversations from weeks ago... and because he said you're quite an artist... 

Snap out of it, you tell yourself, shaking your head. You might have a crush on him, but at the end of the day you're doing a job.

Every day, it gets harder and harder to remember that...

When you get to the hospital, Sasha's doctor informs you that she's started a new phase of the treatment, and that it seems to have had some unexpected side effects, making her disoriented and loopy for a little while last night. Disoriented and loopy, huh? You wonder if you might know what that means better than the doctor does. When she leaves, you look skeptically at your sister.

"Was it the medicine?"

"Nope. Definitely a wrong day," Sasha says, making a face. "But I'm not going to tell _her_ that."

What Sasha calls her "wrong days" happen once or twice every couple of months. For anywhere between a couple of minutes and an hour, she's disoriented -- sometimes even unresponsive -- and the effects can linger, making her spacey and hard to understand. It most often happens at night. As a child, when she woke up her nanny would soothe her through what she thought were night terrors. When you became her guardian, you initially assumed she was having some sort of nightmare, as she babbled about your parents and brother.

The worst instance was one morning nine years ago... the day you got yourself into so much trouble at Jerren's birthday party. She was out of it for hours, and in the end your parents had taken her to the hospital while, with all the self-centeredness of fifteen, you'd hoped you could still go to the palace. It's never been that bad before or since, but some days are definitely worse than others.

They don't map to Sasha's predictions, but she does seem to think they're related somehow. Just as she doesn't like talking about her predictions, though, she doesn't like dwelling on the wrong days. So you don't push her for details; in return, perhaps, she doesn't push you to explain why you were late or tease you about being so dreamy and distracted as you attempt to focus on her favorite card game, Roses and Kings. She beats you handily each time as your mind wanders back to that crossword, that thrilling piece of evidence that Sans has been paying close attention to you, he wants to please you, he maybe even cares about you, at least a little bit on some level. Surely it's all part of the game of owning his own human... but it's still something. How could you have been so silly, worrying he was out with some other woman? Of course he wasn't, he was helping his friends, then he came back and made this puzzle just for --

"I never knew winning all the time could be so boring," Sasha grumbles, laying her cards on the bed. She beat you, again -- and has also apparently reached the limit of her patience with your mooning around.

"Sorry, sorry," you say, taking them and shuffling the deck. 

"Uh huh." She mimes tugging on an imaginary collar around her neck. You feel your cheeks get hot, and she grumbles. "Thought so." Her lips curl up in that way that means she's a half second away from annoying the crap out of you. "Is sex really _that_ great?"

"Sasha!"

"I mean, I might die without ever finding out, least you can do is tell me."

You roll your eyes. "You are not going to die."

"So you want me to find out on my own, once I get out?"

"No! Not until --" Until she gets married? She would pounce on the hypocrisy there with glee. "Uh, not until you're older, and you find someone you can trust, like really trust, and you always always ALWAYS make the guy use a condom and if he says no, I don't care how much you like him, you tell him to take a hike, and -- and you _always_ pee after you're done, because urinary tract infections hurt like hell --"

She perks up. "This talk beats the heck out of the first one you gave me. How about size? Does size matter?"

You smack your hand to your forehead. "Oh, for God's sake. Uh, kind of, but I mean, lots of things matter. For me, what's most important is what's between the guy's ears..."

Sasha ponders this. "So... Stepstool Man is really handsome? 'Cause that's sure not how I'm picturing him."

You burst out laughing. "I meant his brain!" Or magic, or whatever. You're not entirely sure there is anything between where Sans' ears would be, if he had ears.

"Oh. So... he _is_ ugly, then?"

"I think he's handsome in his own way."

This makes her laugh until she has a coughing fit. "Yeah, but we've established that you're suffering from sex-induced temporary insanity."

You can't help but smile. "Maybe a little."

She sighs and shakes her head, her whole demeanor as long-suffering as if she's the substitute mother dealing with a difficult teenager. "Well, don't come crying to me when being starry-eyed and stupid over this guy gets you killed."

"That a prediction or just you being grouchy?"

"I am not being grouchy," she replies, all wounded dignity. "I'm being sensible. 'Cause one of us has to be."

"I'm perfectly sensible. And he is not going to get me killed," you say, rolling your eyes.

She scowls and rolls her eyes back. "Sure. C'mon, let's play Peach Basket. That should be more your speed."

"If you like," you say, dealing out the cards. She's making a point, requesting the first game most kids in the Courtyard ever learn.

She wins the first round, too, but you seem to have concentrated enough to meet her standards, as she doesn't needle you this time. The next two rounds go to you.

"That's more like it," she says, giving you a condescending pat on the hand. "See? It's not so bad to think about something besides Stepstool Man for fifteen minutes at a time."

"I think about plenty of stuff," you grumble, shuffling the deck and dealing out cards.

"Uh huh. Like whether a leather dog collar would be more comfy than a rope one?" You grumble and swat her lightly on the head with your cards, making her laugh.

As you leave the hospital later, you half expect Jerren to accost you, and your mind wanders away from your crossword, back to the conversation you had with Sasha about him yesterday. If his goal was to turn Sasha against you, that would have been his big chance. He had every opportunity to call you hysterical, selfish and out of touch with reality. As resentful as she'd been towards you, she would have bought it. Instead, he told the truth, even though it was unflattering to him, and he put himself through what must have been an excruciating conversation, confessing his sins to her. You could... almost... thank him for it. Which would not entail forgiving him, of course, and would certainly not include trusting him again. Still, it was a decent thing for him to do... 

You suppose you could try to to at least be courteous to him, if you see him, but he doesn't appear. Before long your mind wanders back to Sans' crossword puzzle, and the topic keeps you distracted all through your trip back to the apartment. 

When Sans shows up for the session later that day, about twenty minutes early, you're in the bathroom getting ready. His pensive expression turns into an indulgent grin when he hears you alternately singing and humming to yourself, then grousing when your hair won't cooperate with whatever vision you have for styling it. He looks at the crossword, which you've put on the table, and his grin widens. He heads to the bedroom, where he strips off his suit and changes into his robe. He flops onto the couch, then lays his head back and closes his eyes.

\----------------

this month is getting to me. 

i'm constantly expecting the timeline to reset back to the 1st... or at least for the week to start over again. but there was a reduced level of activity yesterday. does that mean the anomaly's plan succeeded, or is it merely the calm before the storm?

i keep wondering, how many times have we repeated today? how many times have i told her about my work, how many times have i fucked her afterwards?

i won't know until the anomaly sleeps. or to be precise, it's not safe to be in my lab until the nightly period of no reset activity that is, on average, between two and nine am. maybe it's sleeping, maybe it's recharging its powers, maybe it fucks off to an alternate dimension. who the hell knows.

i've researched it for my entire adult life, i've even had a sighting of it that i retain in memory, i've spent so much time trying to understand its movements, and yet i still know so few concrete facts about it... 

fact one. it's either human, can take a human form or can possess a human. it seemed adept at inhabiting its body, so i presume that its form is generally human. and the form that it took when it attacked the district had a red soul. should this form be persistent, then determination is the anomaly's primary trait. a disheartening thought, to say the least.

the times at which the resets happen do suggest a consistent sleep cycle tied to night and day, indicating it either IS human, is bound by a human's limitations, or wishes to give the impression of being human. 

fact two. it doesn't reset at random. there are clear patterns of behavior. if i knew more about it i could read its actions in my data. 

knowing that it attacked us once, and knowing what the patterns for that attack looked like, i hypothesize that it carries out similar attacks on a regular basis. how many times has asgore summoned me in a panic? how many times has my brother's killer taunted me before wiping the memory from my mind?

if i'm reading the patterns correctly, the fucker likes to carry out a particularly long attack during the remembrance day ceremonies. so on the very day on which monsters honor my brother, believing that pap's bravery and sacrifice somehow stopped the mysterious killer from ever returning, that same killer returns to terrify them and shatter their illusions before resetting it all away. i've likely met it there, perhaps blasted it in front of every monster in the district before the experience was erased.

if my interpretation is right, this suggests a rather human cruelty, or at least some form of motive that is comprehensible to mortals. 

fact three. i never found the fucker down here in four years of freelancing, despite following up on hundreds of leads. but i know it's active, hell, i can see just how active it is in my data. so i suspect it's connected to the surface. plus, it's pretty reasonable to guess that a human or humanoid being with godlike powers would rather live up there than down here. 

there are ways to learn about what's going on in the public half of the surface, for someone who's motivated, connected or rich. but so far nothing i've learned has ever been useful to me. granted, i have to work under the assumption that the anomaly is taking steps against me personally. 

still, my hunch is that the anomaly is based out of the courtyard. after all, it's an ultra elite area, protected by strict laws and traditions... all probably very appealing to an entity with godlike powers. it is VERY hard to obtain trustworthy information about the courtyard, god knows i've tried. 

the censorship of factual courtyard news and information combined with the glut of entirely fabricated sensationalism that passes for news about it may actually be part of a scheme to keep me from guessing the anomaly's identity. the way in which clues are dropped indicating several possible suspects among courtyard aristocrats, playboys and geniuses feels deliberate. 

the information i got from the only monster who's ever escaped the courtyard served only to make one suspect a little less likely. and i've never been able to bring myself to force information out of the one person i know who might be able to tell me more.

i could go up there myself. strike a deal with one of the groups involved in kidnapping monsters. if the anomaly is based out of the courtyard, where most monster fights are apparently conducted, and it has a taste for killing us, as indicated by its slaughter in district one and the reset patterns, then that may very well be the fastest way to meet it.

but that's a one-way trip. and although i might enjoy demonstrating my improved plan of attack to the anomaly -- if it works as i theorize it would, i would enjoy it hundreds of times -- the fact of the matter is that, assuming it can reset past the point of death, i can never stop it with out and out violence. as powerful as i am, the best i can do is encourage it to go to another point in time. so that has to remain a fantasy unless the anomaly forces my hand.

i do have various schemes intended to disable it or interfere with the workings of its soul, such that i can prevent it from using its reset ability. but if i make a move prematurely and fail, i give the anomaly the gift of knowing the countermeasures i'm attempting to prepare against it in secret. with its ability to manipulate time, it could even return to a point in time where i don't know it knows what i'm trying to do. so before i put any of those plans in action, i have to know enough about my enemy to be dead certain of success. 

after all, unlike the anomaly, i only get one chance.

fact four. it seems clear that the anomaly has a past with me, and perhaps with papyrus, that i don't remember. 

its motivation for killing papyrus could have had more to do with him than with me. perhaps something pap said made an impression on it. angered it, perhaps, or upset it. pap did have a knack for talking people down... maybe he'd talked down the anomaly before, and the anomaly felt like it had been manipulated, wanted to hurt him in response.

it's also possible that maybe it just never liked pap. because i think it's safe to theorize that whatever kind of being the anomaly actually is, it's an asshole. i can imagine a being that gets off on senseless, repeated monster killing getting frustrated with someone as fundamentally good as pap, perhaps feeling shame at killing him. i can see how it might decide to take that particular piece off the game board.

i wish i knew what pap said to it. i should have been listening. hell, i should have stepped in. blasted the fucker a thousand times even if it meant the timeline ended for me that day... even if it meant i wouldn't be there, if the anomaly took another stab at ending all timelines.

but i knew in my bones i'd seen papyrus die over and over. i thought it'd be reset away like every other time. i didn't want pap to know even subconsciously the full extent of what i could do, didn't want him to fear that side of me. and i feared unleashing my powers, risking my soul through giving in to my violent impulses. i knew that if i opened that door for anything short of preventing the end of the world, i'd end up like... 

well, like this.

anyway, so it could have been something to do with pap. but...

i think it's more likely that the anomaly was fucking with me specifically.

when it attacked our district, it kept looking for me as i followed it. it was wearing a ski mask that hid everything but its eyes, which made it harder to read its face, but...

i got the sense it despised me.

i'm sure i've met it in other timelines, because i used to keep tabs on every human that came to the district, trying to suss out if they were the anomaly. it could have come to district one a thousand times before, had a thousand conversations with me i don't remember. 

for all i know, there's a timeline where the anomaly and i were best friends. there could be a timeline where i helped it rule new ebott. there could be a timeline where we were lovers.

all i know is that for some reason it came to hate me... and it also realized precisely what it could do to inflict the most pain on me over a long period of time.

then there's the fact that the last long timeline ended with a fight between the two of us.

i had theorized about what kind of pattern a serious fight between myself and the anomaly would produce in my data... and it turned out that the last long timeline ended with that very pattern. that is, although i very well may have met it a thousand times, it only went far enough to prompt an attack from me in the last timeline. 

seeing it in person confirmed that my analysis of the data was correct. it kept glancing at my left eye, as if expecting me to attack... and it jumped, when i faked it out with the hand movement that signals the start of my strongest attack.

how did that fight end? we're all still here. so it didn't go much further than me... didn't take that final step of ending everything. did i make it give up? or did it kill me, and simply decide to end its attack there for some reason? did i tell it what it was doing? did it guess? and what did it think, if it hadn't known what i could do before? or did it know, and this is merely the first time it engaged me in that particular kind of knock-down drag-out fight?

i wonder about the end of that last timeline a lot. makes it hard to sleep, sometimes.

fact five. the anomaly manipulates timelines in a very specific, predictable way. the data goes back to 1920, and over the course of many timelines, the anomaly would periodically reset back to that year. however, eventually it chose a new starting point. for the past couple thousand years or so worth of timelines, the furthest back it resets is 1924. so can it not reset further back than that anymore? or does it choose not to? 

from my point of view, figuring that out was a complete mindfuck. march 2, 1924: i think i know how the anomaly works, generally speaking. march 3, 1924: overnight, a couple thousand years have passed, hundreds of timelines have come and gone, oh, and i fought the anomaly last time...

didn't get out of bed for a month. probably would have been better off if i'd just stayed there.

its pattern is to let about 5 to 7 years pass, then reset back to that one day in march of 1924 and start over again. but it often goes further than that. this appears to be a particularly long timeline, but we're still within its usual range.

the closer we get to 1934, the more likely it is it will reset. there are a handful of outlier timelines that continue to 1935 or even 1936. but by the end of 1934, 99% of the long timelines have reset back to its chosen starting point in 1924.

is there something that happens in 1934? i have no idea. i just know that every day that passes makes a reset just a little more certain.

but not today. not so far.

spending this much time thinking about the anomaly always makes me want to drink heavily, but the beer's in the kitchen... this couch is damned comfy... and using my magic is work. ah well, i'll make her get me one when she gets out. after all, what the hell is the use of buying a human if she can't fetch me enough alcohol to make me forget about the anomaly for a couple of hours?

so, looks like i'm actually going to have this conversation with her. well... it was clear from her expression, when i made her that proposal, that she had some theories about what 'freelancing' actually meant. but she took the job anyway, so on some level she's already accepted the answer.

and if i'm wrong, and she breaks the deal.... 

well, i don't think i'm wrong.

\-------------

While you're still getting ready, you hear footsteps in the living room. He's here, you think happily, applying another coat of mascara. So early, too... You emerge looking as alluring as you possibly can. He's already changed into his robe, and is sprawled out on the couch. He looks up at you, and his expression is troubled. Uh oh, did you do something wrong? Made him wait too long, maybe?

* _fucking resets. will i lose the memory of seeing my girl like this? bang her ten times in a night and never know i've done it?_

* _put it that way, it doesn't sound too bad._

But then he smiles. "c'mere, kid." He pats his lap and you balance yourself on his legs, snuggling up to him and kissing the top of his skull. He puts his arms around you, squeezing you to him.

* _this is all i really have. no matter how many times i might have lived through this moment before, no matter how many times i revisit it in the future, this is it._

His hand drifts down to your ass, and he starts feeling you up.

* _and if i don't remember it... at least it was fun while it lasted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how'd you do on the crossword compared to Reader? Did you have to write in all the other words too, or did you figure it out from the first K? Reader has my skill at games like crosswords and Scrabble, which is to say none at all. Seriously, I might be able to put together a decent sentence, but you put a Scrabble board in front of me and I'll cry. (OK - I probably could have figured it out from k _ d n _ p _ _ _ _ and not k _ d n _ p _ _ n _ like Reader did, but it would have been less dramatic that way!)
> 
> Well, I hope that made up for the cliffhanger in Chapter 17.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the little Sans point of view scene, too. It will almost always be Reader's POV, though... I mostly just didn't want everyone to have to read that much text in italics.
> 
> Next time, we finally learn what Sans means by 'freelancing.' I don't know when it might be out -- hopefully in two or three weeks?
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns)! Her reaction to Sasha's conversation with Reader made me laugh so loud I woke up the baby. (Worth it!)
> 
> Also, a quick note: I changed a mistake in chapter 6. Reader had referenced rumors connecting the Courtyard's Institute of Extraphysical Studies and the weapon that destroyed district six. However, the IES itself is not well known outside the Courtyard, although there are rumors about groups or research facilities that are not far off the mark. The line has been changed so that Reader connects the Institute to the event after reading about it, not because of rumors.
> 
> I'm still taking APJFM cast questions! Pretty soon I'm going to have to stop and focus on some of the upcoming chapters I haven't written yet... but in the meantime, this is fun as hell. Thanks to everyone who's sent in questions! I haven't tagged them yet, so for now you can read them at [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/).


	19. the best proof i have that i'm still sane (explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just for Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/166673910935/a-puzzle-just-for-me-recap-to-chapter-19)

"so ya finished my little puzzle?" You'd put the crossword on the coffee table when you got here, and Sans picks it up and displays it to you with a grin.

"Yeah," you say, beaming. "Thank you for making it for me!" 

"was my pleasure. security risk, though, taking it out of the apartment." You start to apologize, and he shakes his head, giving your ass a reassuring pat. "nah, i shoulda made a note of it. but s'long as no one saw it, there's nothing to worry about this time."

"I kept it zipped in my inside coat pocket the whole time, just in case anyone stole my purse again. And I didn't work on it when anyone was around," you say apologetically.

"s'all right, kid. i'm just more paranoid than you are," he says with a wry grin. Considering how you hide your past, he might be surprised, but you just smile. 

* _raised eyebrows, a tight smile that doesn't reach to the eyes._

* _interesting. she doesn't agree, but she's humoring me._

* _does she have a stalker? people from her past that are looking for her? or is she just thinking about whatever efforts she makes to conceal from other people in her life that she sleeps with monsters for money?_

* _well, not my business._

"so you were probably curious 'bout four down?" He taps his finger on the word 'kidnapping.'

"Of course... My heart skipped a beat when I figured it out," you say, holding your hand over your chest.

"no worries, it all had a happy ending. grab me a beer and i'll tell ya 'bout it."

You slide off his lap and scurry to the kitchen, fumbling with the opener in your hurry to get back to him. He accepts the bottle, then drapes his arm around you as you sit back down next to him. "thanks, sweetheart. so... maybe i oughta fill you in 'bout what i do, first." 

"Please do..."

"well, then..." He takes a swig of his beer. "it's hard to describe exactly what i mean by freelancing. kinda... odd jobs."

"That's what Muffet said."

"you already knew that much, you mean? then lemme try again. you weren't far wrong when you asked if i was a gangster. got connections with a lot of'em, started out mostly doing jobs for'em. but i'm not picky. i've got some ongoing commitments, but generally people come to me with proposals, and if i like the sound of one i'll take it. used to be just gangsters, but i picked up a reputation somewhere along the line. so these days i might also work with corp folks, politicians, or..." He shrugs. "just whoever can pay."

"I see. So, um... what kind of proposals?"

With a fixed grin and empty eye sockets, it's been difficult at times to guess at Sans' emotional state from his face. But you like to think you're getting better at it, and right now something about the shape of his eyes indicates amusement. "that's the question, isn't it? level with me, kid... you've been thinking i'm a hit man, haven't you?"

"Uh, well..." You swallow. "Yeah, uh, maybe something like that..."

"funny, i get that a lot," Sans says, grinning at your discomfort. "probably has something to do with a little story you humans tell 'bout a fella called the grim reaper. but actually, that's a rather small percentage of the jobs i take." 

You can almost hear Sasha's accusing voice saying 'See? He _admits_ he's murdery.' 'Rather small percentage,' you counter in your head. That's not so bad... right? Considering what you were thinking... 

"So... what do you do, then?"

"well, there's not really any one thing that i do. thing is, new ebott has all kinds of work for someone with a creative view of the world and magic to burn."

"And finding kidnapped people is part of that work?"

"sure, sometimes. more often people who don't want to be found," he answers with a grin. "i'd class that as a subset of a more general category. investigative work, basically. that's a large part of what i do." He gestures with his beer bottle as he continues "'cause that involves going all over the city, getting answers out of people, putting together the right pieces of information. i've got a knack for that."

"Oh... So you're kind of like a detective?"

He seems amused by this, too. "you could say that."

"That makes sense. You can use your shortcuts to get around, right? And, uh..." How to diplomatically phrase 'a skeleton monster nicknamed Dead Eyes is probably scary as hell when he wants to be'? "I suppose you can be... intimidating?"

"let's just say humans get really cooperative when a living skeleton shows up in their bedroom with a couple of questions." 

You run your hand over his skull. "Some of us like to find a living skeleton in our bedroom, you know."

"that puts you in a minority, sweetheart."

"I think you mean it makes me special," you suggest, pressing your body against his.

He chuckles and runs his hand over your thigh. "you trying to distract me? thought you wanted to hear 'bout all this."

"I do, I do," you say, pulling back and sitting primly next to him, folding your hands together and crossing your ankles. "So... what do you usually investigate?"

* _whatever sounds distracting._

He shrugs. "whatever sounds interesting. tracking down people, objects, information."

"I see..."

"that's just part of what I do, though."

"What else, then?"

"well... suppose you could say i take care of problems. i've got a reputation as being neutral and fair, so i might get hired to help mediate disputes or defuse tricky situations. for example, if someone's crossed a line, might be a visit from me can straighten them out." 

"Like how you dealt with that guy for Muffet?"

"yeah, though that was easy as hell." He grins at you. "'course, it WAS personally satisfying." You smile back as he continues "then there's what i think of as delivery jobs."

"Delivery jobs?"

"sure. like delivering humans from point a -- inside a jail cell, for example -- to point b, near the outskirts of new ebott perhaps. or, say, from the scene of a shootout to a nice hospital."

"So you're better than an elevator _and_ an ambulance?"

He grins. "faster, sure. but a hell of a lot more expensive."

"Because if someone is bleeding out on the ground, then all of a sudden money is probably no object..."

"exactly. an' i make the poor sucker bring a couple of his friends with him, to make sure he gets taken care of properly."

"And I suppose you tack on an extra fee per person?"

"the cost rises exponentially," he says with a wink.

"Talk about a scam," you murmur.

"you don't know the half of it, sweetheart. 'cause i also deal in moving objects. crates of booze, mostly." He looks amused as he continues "like i told ya before, i'm a regular at a hell of a lot of new ebott speakeasies."

The implications of this dawn on you, and your eyes widen. All the rest of his work aside, just his being involved in running alcohol to the extent he's implying would be enough to make him rich. "Oh... of course. Bootlegging would be trivial for you, wouldn't it?"

"barely even counts as work," he says with a grin. "show up at the right spot at the right time, use shortcuts to deliver shipments, collect my fee... then return to whichever place had the best music, buy a round and kick back the rest of the night. damn near well the best racket i ever found."

"Wow..."

"only catch is, vice squad seems to take my continued existence kinda personally."

"That's probably an understatement, isn't it? I mean, it sounds like you're single-handedly making a mockery of the prohibition laws..."

He grins. "well, let's put it this way. the head of the vice squad keeps coming up with new things to do with my essence, once he finally dusts me or some lucky bastard collects on that bounty he's put on my head. last i heard he was gonna rub it into a toilet bowl. an' he couldn't decide if he'd rather use a public toilet, so all new ebott could come take a shit on me, or if he wanted to set me up in his own home."

"Eeeeew," you squeal, laughing and scrunching up your face. "That's _horrible_ , Sans..."

He chuckles. "let the guy daydream, doesn't hurt me."

"You don't worry about spending eternity in a toilet?"

"well, it wouldn't be my first choice. i mean, talk about a _crappy_ fate."

" _Urine_ big trouble if that guy catches up to you," you respond, giggling.

"kid, that pun was like toilet paper," he says, his smile wide. "it was _tearable_." You groan, and he grins. "just teasing ya." He pinches your cheek. "lookin' a little _flushed_ there."

"Oh, _wipe_ that smile off your face!"

Sans chuckles at this one, his demeanor relaxed, and you beam back, pleased to have scored a point. Then he straightens up, suddenly serious. "hey, speaking of bathrooms, did'ja hear some joker actually went an' stole every single toilet outta police hq the other day?"

"No, really?"

"yeah. an' the worst part is... the investigators have nothing to go on."

You groan and laugh at the same time, flopping back onto the couch and squeezing your eyes shut. You roll onto your back and stretch your legs out, draping them over his lap, then put the back of your hand to your head and wince as if the joke was physically painful.

Sans pats your knee. "open your eyes, sweetheart. someone wrote the word 'gullible' on the ceiling for ya."

You squeeze your eyes shut harder and blow a raspberry, and Sans chuckles. You're now laying on the couch with your lower legs resting on his lap, and he runs his hand up your leg and over your thigh. When you open your eyes, he's looking at you, the dots of light in his eye sockets taking in every detail of your body. "for someone who was so curious 'bout what i do, you seem pretty intent on distracting me." He slips his hand under your skirt and underwear to caress your hip bone, and you involuntarily press your hips up against his hand.

"I'm not _trying_ to distract you," you protest. But you pitch your voice into sultry tones, bat your eyelashes up at him and give your hips a little wiggle that belie your words. "Go on, keep talking."

"y'know, that sounded suspiciously like an order." He holds down your belly with his other hand as he trails his fingers over your vulva. You gasp, and he growls as his hand tightens over your cunt, his palm pressing down on your mons. "pop quiz. who gives the orders around here?"

"You do," you gasp, spreading your legs for him as his fingers squeeze your labia. 

"you do, WHAT."

"You do, master..."

"better," he snarls, pushing the crotch of your underwear aside and slipping the very tip of his finger inside your vulva. "god, you're pathetic. one night i miss and my human starts panting for me like a bitch in heat." You tremble and cling to his arm as he teases your labia, and his magic snakes up your legs, warm and tingly on your hips and belly. "which, of course, is just how i like ya." His finger penetrates you a little deeper, and you whimper. "aroused..." He slides a second finger into you. "desperate..." He forces his fingers up inside your cunt, making you gasp and squirm underneath him as he presses them into you. "and crying with frustration." He pulls his fingers out, and the magic skimming over your skin vanishes. 

You yelp. "Hey!"

He gives your tummy a pat. "leave 'em wanting more, i always say."

You screech in frustration, grinding down into the couch. "Seriously? Don't stop!"

"thought you learned your lesson 'bout giving orders."

You shift around so you're lying on your side and squirm, your vulva throbbing. "I should have _known_ you would do that," you whine.

He chuckles. "'s dangerous to tease me, kid. now go get me another beer."

You grumble, but slide off the couch and stand up. He gives your ass a swat, and you growl in an exaggerated way as you walk off, wiggling your hips just a little bit extra with each step.

"don't worry," he calls as you open the beer. "you'll get what you need. when your master decides to give it to you, of course."

"Of course," you call back, your tone playfully grouchy. 

You return with his beer, handing it to him before sitting at the other end of the couch, hands folded primly in your lap, ankles crossed. "See? Not distracting at all."

He takes a swig of his beer, then sets it on the coffee table. He reaches for you and pulls you down so your head is on his lap. "human gals are ALWAYS distracting. there, that's more like it." He runs his hand over your hair, and you make a satisfied rumble in the back of your throat, relaxing and curling up next to him. "now. where was i?"

"Confessing that you're the biggest bootlegger in New Ebott."

"confessing? that implies guilt." His grin widens. "i'm performing a public service."

"No wonder you thought it was so funny I've never been to a speakeasy..."

He chuckles. "you aren't missing much, hell of a lot of them are just little hole-in-the-wall joints. but there's some you'd probably like. great music, good places for people watching. an' i also supply a bunch of restaurants and places like that." He continues petting your hair. "hmmm. investigative work, relocation services... what else? there's what i think of as consulting. i might be hired to help plan an operation or an attack."

"So like a tactician?"

"basically. or discussing how things stand underground... what i think someone might do next, what's been going on recently, or what things look like between some of the major players underground. i keep tabs on all that shit."

"It must be a lot to keep track of..."

He shrugs. "'s just what i do."

* _had practice with that before i started freelancing... it's what i used to do for asgore._

"you probably see how it is, now. i take a lot of random jobs."

"I bet you'd make a great bodyguard..."

"oh sure. bodyguard, security guard, did that kind of thing a lot starting out. still take those kinds of gigs once in a while, i kinda like'em."

"Why's that? Seems to me like it would get tedious."

"sure, bores my tailbone off. but sometimes it's not bad to just sit around doing nothing an' have some poor sap pay me for the privilege." He winks, and you giggle.

"I don't suppose you've ever... uh, probably not, never mind..."

"try me."

"It's kind of silly, I just, uh, I was thinking the other day that you'd make a wonderful figure model..."

"a figure model? y'mean, stand around naked and let people draw me?" He chuckles. "if you think starving artists can afford my rates you haven't been paying attention."

"I know, but you'd be perfect for someone who wanted to learn about anatomy... and it would be a lot of sitting around, doing nothing..."

He pats your cheek. "i'm kinda warming to the idea. stand around, mooning a bunch of earnest little artists with my non-existent ass, an' get paid for it..."

"Yes, exactly!"

"well, if the usual work ever dries up, maybe i'll keep that in mind." He takes a swig of his beer, then leans his head back on the couch, absently running his hand over your shoulders. 

"Uh, what about..." You're hesitant to bring up the subject. Your curiosity wins out, but you flounder as you try to broach it. "You, uh, you say you usually work with humans, right?"

"yeah."

"So what about, um, what about monsters who get kidnapped? Do you try to track them down too?"

"uh, well..." It can be hard to tell when a being made of bones is tensing up, but as far as you can tell, that's just what he's doing. "that's a little different. the bastards who do that kinda work, they bring the poor souls right to one of the private trams, or the gold tram--" The only aerial tram that goes straight to the Courtyard. "--so ya gotta be right on the spot, or intercept them somehow. if i'm there i'll do what i can, but..."

* _i'm never there, am i?_

* _i stock up on food... i sometimes fill in asgore, if there's something i think he should know... and i hole up at my place. inside, the blinds shut, soundproofed._

* _undyne wanted me to quit freelancing, join the guard. for her to make me that offer showed a true generosity of soul, considering what she thinks of me._

* _but the truth is, the district is better off without me._

He trails off, looking troubled, then shrugs and continues "but y'don't have a lot of time."

"Oh..." The question clearly rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe he'd had friends who had been taken, or more than one failed rescue attempt. You pat his knee awkwardly, not at all sure how to restore his good mood.

He takes another drink of his beer. "there ya have it. that answer your question?" His voice seems back to normal, at least. 

"Yes, thank you for explaining," you say, wiggling your hips. "You really keep yourself busy, don't you?"

* _time passes quicker when i've got something to occupy myself with._

* _shocked every monster in the districts, when word first got around. they truly thought i was lazy._

* _even frisk never believed me when i told them that nothing could be further from the truth._

"guess so," he answers, shrugging.

He drinks some more of his beer while you wonder how to phrase your next question. 

"So, uh... what happens if you try to straighten someone out, and it doesn't work?"

He raises an eyebrow. "you want to know more 'bout the hit man part, huh."

"That's putting it a little bluntly, but... yes," you admit.

* _so far everything i've told her is common knowledge, in certain circles of new ebott society._

* _but this is a subject i didn't intend to discuss with someone i'm paying to sleep with me._

* _still, it is a fair question on her part..._

He ponders this for a moment before continuing "well... let me put it this way. whenever humans are involved, things get complicated. but what you should understand is, i don't just take any job. i, uh..."

* _i keep the book with pap's essence on it in my room. i talk to him just about every day._

* _and i don't take any job i couldn't explain to him._

"i turn down a lot of them. i can afford to pick and choose, and there's people down here i won't work for for any money. and, uh..." His expression is distant. "well... how do i put this?" He's silent for a moment before continuing. "guess you could say, i want to believe that people can be better than they are. if someone's going down the wrong path, they maybe oughta get a chance to turn around and try again. i want to believe that... even though i..."

* _don't._

"dunno if i do." He shrugs. "but that means i usually try to find a better solution than violence. i usually manage to do it."

* _of course, the word 'usually' does leave a fair bit of wiggle room._

* _she doesn't need to know why i keep so many restrictions on myself..._

* _it's because i like what i do too fucking much._

There's silence as you consider this.

"So... humans make things complicated, you say?"

"that's been my experience."

"And you put yourself in the middle of our complications... untangling problems, stocking speakeasies, keeping up with the state of New Ebott..."

"that's right."

"You seek out peaceful solutions, and... you believe in redemption. Right?"

"i try."

You sit up, looking curiously at him. "Uh, well... all that, it's not, um... it's not exactly what I expected..."

He seems to have anticipated this. "lemme guess. you've heard i'm a little more like the reaper than i'm letting on."

"I, uh... it's not like I've been asking around about you," you stammer. "I just..."

"you listen, you read, you put things together. i get it." He takes another swig of his beer, then sets it back down on the coffee table. "and you think i'm soft-pedaling what i do so i don't scare you." He looks at you, an eyebrow raised, and you swallow. There's something calculating in his expression that makes you feel uneasy. "think you'd understand better if i told ya how things happened yesterday."

"Okay..."

"well. y'know how a lot of humans seem to think, uh, scary-looking creatures that use magic, live over twice as long as humans an' can pull out souls might actually be evil demons?"

"I have heard the theory," you allow.

"for the humans who believe so strongly in this theory that they'll try to dust us for extra headpats once they get to heaven, a couple of monsters named asgore and toriel happen to be right at the top of the hit list. something 'bout the horns--" Sans mimes horns sprouting from his skull. "-- an' the fire magic, an' possibly the part where they're imposing as hell when they wanna be. they also happen to be friends of mine. so yesterday wasn't a job. it was personal."

Sans' flat tone of voice and serious expression makes a chill go through your skin. You would not like to be the person with whom he had a personal disagreement.

"So they're the ones who got kidnapped?"

"no, they're not that easy to get at. y'see, they run district one, an' they know a trick or two. it was their kids."

Your eyes widen, and you gasp. "Their _kids_?"

Sans chuckles. "frisk and asriel are their names. they're teenagers now, they probably wouldn't like me calling'em kids. but... guess that's how i still think of 'em." He shrugs. "anyway, they went to sleep the previous night, weren't there in the morning. just as their parents are starting to freak out, one of the sentries finds a note saying, we have your children, meet us in this warehouse in human territory at midnight if you ever want to see them again."

"Oh no..."

"there was a ransom demand, but they figured it was just as likely that they were being lured into an ambush. now, asgore has a way to contact me if, uh..."

* _if the anomaly comes back._

"if there's an emergency," he says after a moment. "so i got the call yesterday morning and i went right there, found out what'd happened."

"They must have been distraught..."

"yeah. worse than i've ever seen'em. they had some idea i could help them fight, or get the kids out while they fought. i told'em i would find the kids instead. so i got to work tracing their steps the previous night, found that those two had snuck out to go to some show in human territory. now, if they weren't the children of the leaders of district one, that wouldn't have been a big deal, this was a neighborhood where humans don't get all that excited 'bout some monsters running around. but they are who they are. so they should have known better, asriel especially, but..." He shakes his head. "you know how teenagers are. think they're invincible."

"Oh, sure..."

"the way they'd been taken made me think that whoever snatched'em had had experience kidnapping monsters, so i tracked down some of the rat bastards who do that kinda work. one of them had the info i needed. turns out his former partner pinball had some kinda near-death experience a while back, got religion. guy matched the description of one of the kidnappers..."

* _it's all i can do to keep my bones from rattling when i remember talking to the freak who told me about pinball._

* _'maybe you can answer a question before you kill me, dead eyes,' he said. 'i've been going after monsters for a year now, and i always wondered, how come he's never tried to stop me?'_

* _i didn't say anything._

* _'i was taking a couple monsters up last month,' he continues. 'little fire gal an' a fish fella of some sort. she's crying, saying, if only sans had been there, he could have saved us. the other guy, he says, like hell he would have. he doesn't care about anyone, he didn't even love his own --'_

* _the conversation ended there._

* _how could i explain? those poor souls that man kidnapped, they've died up there hundreds of times, they'll die hundreds of times more..._

* _i get involved in human business because i don't care about humans._

* _but if i let myself care about monsters, it'll paralyze my soul._

His voice trails off, and his eyes narrow. "Then?" you prompt him, after a minute.

"uh, yeah. then i went looking for this pinball guy. and..." He leans back and rubs his forehead. "thing is, i kept thinking i was finding some of the clues too easily, and i was right. see, they knew i occasionally worked for asgore and toriel..."

* _but didn't know, i think, that i'd ever had an emotional connection to the kids._

* _which is how i want it._

* _if i'm right, that the anomaly killed papyrus to hurt me... the only ethical thing to do is to never give it any more ammunition._

"so they put together a plan to ambush me, if i got involved. the trail led to a couple of crusaders. that is, humans who think it's a religious duty to kill monsters."

You gasp.

He shakes his head. "c'mon, kid, i'm here aren't i? they weren't half bad, but it's gonna take more than that for someone to dust me." 

"But -- but they expected you might get involved, they knew you were coming, they could have --"

"they didn't. they weren't anything to worry about."

"If you say so," you say weakly.

"i kept on searching once that was over. went and had a chat with the head priest of the church this pinball character went to..."

* _helps to be able to catch people like that with their pants down._

* _humans have been known to say i scare the shit out of them. more than once it's been literal._

"got enough information from him about pinball and his associates that i got back on track. it took a while, but i finally found the kids around ten."

Around ten... That's about when you'd fallen asleep, drunk and convinced Sans was dead or sleeping with someone else. Well, that'll teach you to overreact... hopefully.

"Were they okay?"

"they'd been drugged. probably woke up this morning with a hell of a headache, but they weren't hurt."

You breathe a sigh of relief as he continues "so i brought'em back to their parents. then..." His expression is creepier than you've ever seen it. "went back, dealt with the loose ends..."

Your stomach seems to scrunch up in your belly as you realize just what he means. "They'd, uh... they'd lost their chance for redemption, hadn't they?"

"their fate was sealed the moment they touched those children. frisk and asriel, they're... well, they're..."

* _important to me?_

* _they'd both get pissed at me for saying that._

* _from their perspective, i abandoned them long ago._

"they're good kids," he continues. "so yeah. took care of the kidnappers. next, i followed up with asgore and toriel..."

* _then dropped by my lab and took a minute to check the timeline data, wondering if a lot of activity might mean the anomaly had been involved in some way. not that i'd really know if it was or wasn't._

* _but it had been relatively quiet._

He pauses, then continues "then came back here an' made you that," he says, gesturing to the crossword. "so... there you have it. that's the kind of thing i do." He takes a final swig of his beer, then sets the empty bottle down on the table. "but don't get the idea that every day is as dramatic as yesterday. feels like three-fourths of freelancing is talking to people, keeping tabs on how things stand underground, talking about possible jobs. and what happened yesterday was unusual 'cause i almost always work with humans. like i said, it was personal. but..." He pauses. "yeah. now you know... that gonna bother you?"

"Well... like you guessed, I thought it'd be worse," you say. Although knowing it for sure is a different feeling. It's disconcerting to sit next to Sans, his arm around you, knowing that he killed at least three people yesterday -- and clearly enjoyed it. Is that related to his desire to dominate and hurt humans in bed? As you've noted to yourself before, part of what you're being paid so handsomely for is not thinking about that sort of question too hard. And anyway, he was in the right... these people fully intended to murder two monsters by kidnapping their kids, and went so far as to plan to kill Sans, too, if he got involved. You can't feel sorry for them, not when they knew exactly what they were getting into...

"well. like i said, you can break it off anytime. no hard feelings. you wanted to know... i'm telling ya because i want to know you can deal with it."

"I think... if that's how it is, I can deal with it," you say, your voice low. 

"who are you kidding, girl." You feel his hand at the back of your neck, and you swallow. "you like knowing that someone as dangerous as me wants you as much as i do. but it scares you too, doesn't it? and part of you even likes that." His fingers curl around your neck and press down. "go ahead, tell me i'm wrong."

"You're... not wrong," you admit.

He looks searchingly at you, something smug in his expression as he holds your neck. "it turns you on, knowing what i do. and that pretty green soul of yours doesn't even know what to make of that, does it?"

How does he even have you figured out so well? You feel your cheeks get hot. "You're not wrong about that either..."

He turns toward you, laying his other hand lightly on your cheek and turning your head so that you're looking directly at him. "do i scare you?"

You take a deep breath. "Yes."

"but... you still trust me, don't you?"

"Yes."

He caresses your cheek, his expression intense. "kid... we play with some dangerous stuff in bed. and i'll be honest with you, i can be pretty fucking scary. but i will never hurt you."

"I know," you whisper.

He lets go of you, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back on the couch. There's something ghoulish about his grin as he says "actually, if ya ever get tired of me, you could do pretty well for yourself by collecting on a couple of those bounties i mentioned. but long-term, i'm worth more to you alive."

You shudder. "Don't even say that..."

"what, you aren't even a LITTLE tempted?"

"No, of _course_ not --" You look at him, and your eyes narrow. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

"can't help myself, you make it so easy," he says, winking at you. "c'mon now. if i thought you were the kinda gal who'd try to dust me in my sleep, i wouldn't have set this up with ya in the first place."

* _of course, i may have been watching her face carefully when i mentioned that the vice squad's offering a reward for proof of my death._

* _she never even entertained the thought of claiming it herself._

How could Sans even think such a thing? You shudder. It's true that humans have an advantage over monsters, but Sans has his own advantages... How in the world could you possibly kill him, when you like him as much as you do... and when it's clear that several humans have tried and failed?

He looks over at you, raising his eyebrows. "so. we're good?"

You shrug. "Well, you were right, I thought you were a hit man. So what I was imagining was worse than reality. I know what the New Ebott gangs are like..."

"true, you coulda done a lot worse than me."

"I think I got lucky," you say, your voice low. 

His brow ridge furrows as he studies you. "ya really think so?"

"I do."

"eh, nice girl like you, you could find anyone to pull your hair a bit..."

"Sure. But then you get out of bed, and they don't realize it's just play. You do."

He shrugs. "if someone like me doesn't have a really fucking tight grip on reality, it's bad for everyone."

"That's why it's fun being with you in and out of bed."

The dots of light in his eye sockets scan your face. "is it?"

"You couldn't tell?"

"well. i am paying you to be here."

"Sure, and I'm not suggesting you stop, but..." You smile at him, laying your hand lightly on his sternum. "I like you."

* _she actually means that, doesn't she?_

* _if she was feeding me a line i'd know it, right?_

* _i'd be able to tell?_

* _fuck. i'm losing my touch._

You feel the magic in his bones pound faster. "kid..." He takes a deep breath. "i don't even know your real name," he says quietly. 

So he has been wondering? And you'd thought he probably didn't care. A thrill of delight goes all through you, but you only say lightly "I'm surprised you haven't found it out already, being this big-shot detective and all."

"i'm not going to pretend the thought never crossed my mind. but..."

* _i might believe that nothing matters. but if i always allowed myself to act accordingly, then it would be impossible for anyone but the anomaly to protect themselves from me._

* _that the idea disturbs me as much as it does is the best proof i have that i'm still sane._

He grins. "thought it'd be more fun to hear it from you."

When Sans had first asked your name, you'd only known him as the intense, intimidating monster you'd just made a deal with. But since then, you've laughed with him, you've relaxed with him, you've even seen each other's souls... You like him, you just told him. Who do you think you're kidding? You're infatuated with this guy, and only the knowledge of what a terrible, terrible idea that is seems to be tethering you to reality right now. You'd love to tell him immediately, for him to repeat your name with a smile. But some little spark of mischief prompts you to say "I'll tell you. But there may be a puzzle or two for you to solve first."

He throws his head back and laughs. It's the most heartfelt good humor you've ever seen from him. "god damn. did i set myself up for that or what?" Then he turns toward you, smiling. "alright, alright. bring'em on." 

You think you're getting better at reading Sans' expressions... and there's something different about him right now.

For the first time, he looks genuinely happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nineteen chapters and over 100,000 words into this endeavor, we finally learn what 'freelancing' actually means to Sans. And all it is is a take on the 'Sans does lots of odd jobs' trope! Incidentally, that line about Sans not considering himself to be lazy at all? That's canon, or rather a slightly paraphrased version of a line from the game... and greatly informs my understanding of his character.
> 
> Chapters 19, 20 and 21 cover Sans and Reader's evening together. I used to think of this section as one chapter, then split them up into "conversation," "sex" and "conversation and sex" as I kept writing. I'll be posting 20 in mid-November. I've actually finished up to chapter 23... but the next section is pivotal and almost entirely unwritten. I'm hoping to handle that without a hiatus, we'll see.
> 
> yanderebunny303 did [another piece of fanart](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/165534742400/yanderebunny303-reader-x-sans-apartment-chat-for) for APJFM, and although it isn't technically based on chapter 19 (seeing as how it was posted a month ago) I think it has much the same relaxed, sexy vibe as the chapter does, so I'm content to associate it with 19. I love it, they look so cute together!
> 
> I'm still taking questions for the [Ask The APJFM Cast event!](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164423631880/ask-the-apjfm-cast-round-2) I'm happy to take multiple questions from people, and anonymous questions are on, so you can ask whatever indecent questions come to mind. (Sans likes those best.) There's one I'm going to answer now I've posted 19, and there's one I want to put off answering until I've posted 20. (Shout out to lap dance anon, you'll get your wish.) They have been fun as hell and... shall we say, enlightening, in a few cases. It's not necessary to read all these questions to enjoy APJFM... but I have dropped some pretty significant clues in them! 
> 
> You can [browse all of them](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-cast-questions-round-2), or browse by respondent: [Sans](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-Ask-Sans), [Reader](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-Ask-Reader), [Sasha](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-Ask-Sasha), [Jerren](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/tagged/APJFM-Ask-Jerren). 
> 
> Some of my favorites:  
> [Is Sans an ass or tits man?](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164740180460/sans-are-you-more-of-an-ass-or-tits-man)  
> [Are Sans and Reader into exhibitionism?](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164737262835/hmm-so-are-either-of-you-two-into)  
> [Sans' thoughts on Uranus](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164712457140/sans-what-are-your-thoughts-on-uranus)  
> [What would Sans do if he learned Reader had fallen in love with him?](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164612157770/hey-sans-lets-use-our-imagination-what-would)  
> [Sasha's honest opinion about her sister's conspiracy theories](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164521604480/sasha-im-really-glad-you-and-your-sister-made)  
> [Jerren's bird-related accident](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164801100835/jerren-in-all-your-lives-have-you-ever) \-- and his [follow-up to the question](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164825252580/umm-jerren-shes-alive-right-and-if-she-is).
> 
> Don't miss my favorite response of all: [The APJFM cast tries the world's stinkiest fruit, the durian.](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/166490909905/i-would-like-for-all-characters-to-experience-the)
> 
> As always, thanks to my beta reader [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns)! I know APJFM is just fanfiction, but it's truly changed my life. I've dabbled in writing before, but this is the first time I ever wrote something this ambitious, and it's the first time I've ever truly dropped my inhibitions and wrote honestly about my turn-ons, my desires and my anxieties. When we started working together, the story was threadbare; I'd written, for example, that Reader's past had some sort of scandal attached to it, but didn't actually know what that scandal was, and everything to do with Reader's life was fuzzy. peonylanterns helped me work through what happened and what the emotional ramifications are, and she did so much to shape the story and the world. On several occasions, she had a better feel for the characters' emotions than I did, and comments she's made have formed the basis of several of my favorite scenes. APJFM would be a shadow of itself without her and I'm deeply grateful to her.
> 
> I've teased you all enough with those seven kisses... Chapter 20 starts out with them, so come back next time!
> 
> Here's a [calendar of events through chapter 19](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/166743906410/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-19).


	20. being lazy for a bit (explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just for Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/167305897165/apjfm-chapters-1-19-summary)

"you still owe me some kisses, sweetheart," Sans says with a smile.

"I haven't forgotten," you purr. "Let's see..." You shift over to his lap, straddling him and holding on to the convenient handles at the backs of his shoulder blades. "Your base rate..."

You lay your hand lightly on the back of his head and press your lips against his left cheek bone, then his right cheek bone. Right above his nasal cavity, then on his chin. A kiss over each eye socket, then a kiss on his forehead. You place each kiss slowly and deliberately, caressing his skull and the back of his neck as you go.

He chuckles. "base rate was five."

"What, you don't accept tips?"

"not often i have anyone rushing to give me MORE money after the job's done. but i mighta undercharged you," he says with a grin.

You stroke the side of his skull, smiling back. "You definitely undercharged me." He just leans back, his smile relaxed as he looks at you. "Now... the fee for making you chase someone..."

He runs his hands over your back as you hold his skull with both hands and bring your mouth to his left temple. "'chase' isn't exactly it," Sans explains as you pull back, then kiss his right temple. "i tailed him until he was alone... then gave him a good whack to the back of his head, grabbed your bag and shortcut out. poor bastard never knew what hit him." 

"And you enjoyed it, didn't you? That's what the discount was for," you whisper.

"it was a satisfying job on a couple different levels, let's say."

"Well, then, you'd better return one of those kisses..." You present yourself to him with your eyes closed and your lips parted.

He makes a low, rumbling noise and puts his hand on the back of your head, pulling you to him for a kiss. It still feels a little strange to angle your head down, not up, but his height has started to strike you as something rather adorable about him. You press yourself against him and part your lips, and he grunts and forces his tongue into your mouth, feeling up your ass. He then slips his hand under your skirt and underwear, holding your ass as your soft lips press against bone. He slides his hand down to the back of your neck, crushing you to him as his tongue subdues yours and fills up the space in your mouth. A thrill goes through your body, and you give yourself over to the kiss, your body yielding to his. 

He growls with satisfaction as he brushes his fingers over your labia. You whimper and wrap your arms around his shoulders and rib cage, longing for him to claim your cunt just as his tongue claims your mouth. If his bones might feel a little knobbly and uncomfortable, it's all the same to you. Even the discomfort of holding a skeleton against your fleshy, sensitive body is outweighed by the thrill of being his human, of feeling him drawing out and savoring this kiss, knowing that he's losing himself in the pleasure you're offering him.

He brings his hand up, encircling your waist and drawing your belly closer to him. You make a low, satisfied noise and grind your hips against him, hugging him tightly as your tongues slide over each other. In this moment, he owns you body and soul. You submit both to him, conscious only that it's you that this man wants to refresh himself with, your mouth he desires, your body he's inevitably going to possess. Oh, but this is perfect... he's not rushing to use you for the quickest orgasm that his living sex toy can provide, no, he's taking his time, he's making the most of his reward...

Your lips part, and you smile at him, caressing his cheekbone as he looks up at you. "Then... what was the next one?"

"hell if i remember," he says with a grin.

"Oh yeah. About me carrying bricks. Two kisses." You grin. "Want to know what I've got in there?"

"do tell."

You kiss his jaw, running your hand down his other cheek. "Wallet, coin purse, keys. Sewing kit, first aid kit, makeup bag, handkerchief. And my sketchbook, notebook and a pencil." You kiss his cheekbone.

He whistles. "no wonder it was so damn heavy."

"I like to be prepared."

"prepared for everything but some creep snatching it from ya," he says indulgently.

"Are you fishing for extra kisses? Here," you answer, planting a few more kisses on his cheekbone with exaggerated smacking sounds. 

He chuckles. "not gonna say no to that. some over here, too." He taps on his other cheekbone, and you kiss it, too.

"Then, you were quite right, you shouldn't gouge your human," you say, shaking your finger at him in a mock scolding way. "So you need to return one of those kisses."

"of course," he says, smiling lazily as he pulls you back toward him. He presses his mouth lightly onto your lips and breathes deeply. "god, you smell good." He wraps one arm around your back and cradles the back of your head with his other hand.

"It's that perfume you got me," you murmur before feathering kisses on the bone around his mouth.

He chuckles. "not just that. y'know, my senses are better than yours." 

You tense up, suddenly self-conscious. "Uh, how much better? You, um... you don't track people by scent, do you?"

This makes him laugh. "what d'ya think i am, a dog monster?"

It makes sense that dog monsters have a better sense of smell than other monsters... but you'd actually slept with a dog monster during your week working for Muffet and now you're retroactively even more weirded out by that than you were before. "No, I just, uh... I'm just wondering," you say weakly. "I mean, you don't mind the way I smell, right?"

"just told you i like it. see, this is why i don't usually mention that bit of monster trivia to human women," he says, patting your back. "makes them kinda twitchy 'bout their hygiene. but kid, you've got nothing to worry about..." He pushes your head down far enough that he can press his face up against your neck, right under your ear, then takes a deep breath. "you have no idea how good you smell to me." He lets go of your head and leans over, pressing the top of his skull into your belly and taking another deep breath. With you straddling his lap like this, your cunt barely veiled by thin underwear and a short skirt, he might be able to smell how aroused you are, and the idea makes blood rise to your cheeks. His deep, rough growl confirms your suspicion. "you drive me wild."

You can't help but wonder if your deodorant is holding up, or if he's ever noticed you farting... but there's something uniquely hot about knowing how intense you smell to him, and how arousing he finds it. You grind down on his lap and spread your legs even wider. "Good," you whisper, your voice low and husky.

He makes a low, rumbling sound as he crushes you to him and kisses you with increasing intensity. As he gets into it, you untie the sash to his robe. You explore his rib cage and sternum with your hands as he kisses you, and you feel him reacting, groaning as he moves underneath your hands. You're starting to get a good sense of how the bones respond to touch, and you play with the knowledge, running your fingers on the inside of his rib cage and down his spine. He shivers as you brush the vertebrae all the way down to his pelvis.

"seems like you're getting the hang of making out with a skeleton," he remarks.

"I'm making progress," you answer. "You're still a challenge, though. I already know what drives a human guy wild, but I'm still learning with you. Like, here..." You run your fingers on the outside of his rib cage. "They're more sensitive on the inside than the outside." You demonstrate, touching the inside of his rib cage, and he groans, moving under your hand. 

"yeah, it's like that in a couple of places," he says. He pushes up the sleeve of his robe to his elbow and offers you his arm. "the insides of the two arm bones. the ulna and the radius."

You run your fingers in a circle on the insides of the bones, and he shivers. "Where else?"

"same on my legs." 

You slide down to the floor, running a hand down one leg as you inspect it.

"the fibula and tibia. something about the -- oh god." You're licking the bones on the inside, running your tongue from the knee to the ankle, then back up again. The smooth bone feels good against your tongue, and there's a tinge of salt and the sharp, cool flavor of his magic. You grab one of the leg bones on the other side -- you wonder which is which -- and you slide your hand up and down. 

You glance up at him to gauge his reaction. You'd expected a relaxed smile, or an intense, lustful expression. But -- if you're reading his expression right -- something about his grin seems tense. You pull back, frowning.

"You -- you don't like it?"

He starts. "huh? sure i like it. keep going, sweetheart."

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay..."

"yeah, sure." He pauses. "just... i dunno, feels kinda unexpected."

"Touching your legs, you mean? Licking you? I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

"i'm fine," he answers, grinning at you.

"You're tense."

"me, tense? kinda like the time the past, present and future all walked into a bar?"

"What?" You get the joke a split second afterwards, and chuckle awkwardly. "Oh, I get it. But you're changing the subject."

"i told you, i'm fine. i just, uh, i don't exactly get my legs licked a whole lot."

"So... I shouldn't...?"

"no, no, didn't say that, it's just... uh, i dunno how to put it..."

You sit back next to him on the couch, studying his face. "I feel like I'm missing something."

"it's really nothing, it's just..." He studies you, too. "you are ok doing that, right?"

"Licking your legs, you mean?" You shrug. "Sure. I mean, you made me lick your fingers last time..."

"it's different if i'm ordering you."

"I liked it, though. Sans, what is this about?"

That tense look returns to his face. "uh, well, here's the thing 'bout what you like. you like being hit. you like being called names. kid, you get off on being degraded."

"Got me there," you admit, your face feeling hot.

His voice is quiet as he continues "so, can't help but wonder sometimes... is it degrading to lick a skeleton?"

Does Sans really think that the only reason you'd lick his leg bones of your own volition is to get the same thrill you get from being slapped? You feel a sudden rush of sympathy for him. It can be hard to remember that even a man as dominant and self-possessed as Sans must have his own insecurities... The time he wrote in the notebook while he was drunk comes to mind, when he called himself trash. 

"No! No, that's not it. I just, uh... I just wanted to make you happy..."

* _she means it. that wasn't even a white lie._

He leans against the couch and grins at you. A real grin, this time. "yeah? 'cause i gotta admit, i fucking loved it. it felt like you were sending a shock right through my bones. i just... i dunno, maybe i thought it was too weird for you or something. 'cause... well." He shrugs. "last gal that did something like that to me, she was a monster fetishist. some of'em get off on the whole, y'know, monster thing, but some of'em get off on feeling like i'm disgusting and they're even worse. she was the second type."

"Oh... I get it," you say. Your stomach turns at the idea of someone treating Sans so callously, and you grimace.

"yeah, it kinda brought that back. and i just..."

* _i don't want my girl to think of me like that._

He shrugs. "i guess it was weirding me out."

"I, uh..." 'I don't think you're disgusting'? That's such an incredibly low bar that it would be insulting -- and doesn't at all reflect how warmly you're feeling toward him right now. "I really like the way your bones feel. And I'm sorry that she made you feel bad about yourself..."

He shrugs. "i mean, i wouldn't say i took it all that personally. it's just, i can't change who i am. i wouldn't want to, either. and there's only so much i'm gonna expect from a human, 'cause i know to humans i'm a walking, talking symbol of death."

You shake your head. "You're just Sans to me."

He smiles. "aw, hell, kid. c'mere." He pulls you towards him, resting your head on his lap, and strokes your forehead. Not for the first time, you're grateful for the thick robe you bought him, and you snuggle up to him with a smile.

So he's been wondering how you felt about his body? Well, if you can direct the conversation away from death and insecurity back to sex, then you'll be able to show him exactly how you feel about it. "Muffet mentioned that you had a thing for humans... What do you like about us?"

* _good question._

* _monster sex involves mingling our magic, which is an expression of our souls. so those of us who know about what humans do in bed consider our way of doing things to be inherently more intimate than human sex, which simply mashes body parts together._

* _in the same way that most humans find it hard to envision fulfilling sex without penetration, most monsters find it hard to envision fulfilling sex without the consuming sense of connection with their partner's soul that magical sex entails._

* _i don't want a real relationship. so this simulation of human sex is safer for me, even if i don't get that true intimacy out of the deal... and even if humans are more likely to try to kill me._

* _of course, there's also the fetish aspect._

He looks down at you, smiling wryly. "asked myself the same thing a million times." He shrugs. "it's a lot of things. but generally..." He studies your face. "it's a fascination with how complex humans are. how delicate they are." You feel his hand at your neck, and you swallow. 

* _human bodies, lacking magic, have a sense of carnality that appeals to me. i like the balance between their exquisite fragility and their resilience._

* _i particularly like this... the sensation of her pulse pounding against my bones. her life itself flutters under my fingers. her eyes appeal to me as i touch her. use me, they say. but master, don't forget what you could do to me if you are not careful._

* _the more her body reacts to pain and sensation, the more i enjoy it. desperate to please me, she consciously wills herself out of her instinct for self-protection and, trembling, braces herself for more. when i'm satisfied she's pathetically grateful, eager for my praise and reassurance._

* _the paradox is that if human bodies were not so strong, i couldn't amuse myself in this way with her vulnerability. she adjusts and heals as if there was magic in her skin and muscles. the marks i leave on her don't even last all that long._

* _i know it's all an illusion, a distraction. but it's a fucking great one._

He takes your hand and places it against his, palm to palm, as he studies you. You smile up at him, and he looks down and smiles back. "c'mon, let's get back to where we left off. 'cause i mighta got kinda freaked out about it, but that little move of yours was hot as hell. here."

Before you've even registered what that 'here' might mean, the scene changes to the bedroom. You're laying on the bed now, your head still in his lap and your skin tingling. You start, sitting up and looking around. "Oh! You startled me..."

He grins. "just saving a little time."

"I like your way of saving time," you say, grinning back at him as you slip his robe off his shoulders. "If you're comfortable with letting me take over a bit... I just want you to relax. Are you fine with that?"

"hell, being lazy for a bit sounds fantastic," he says, winking as you slide his robe off of one arm. "sure. you can be in control tonight."

He lets you finish pulling off his robe, then watches with unabashed interest while you strip down. You rejoin him in bed, naked, and sit facing him. He sits in front of you with his legs crossed. 

"now. where were we?"

"I'm in control, remember? Just relax," you say as you take his hand. You press your lips to each individual finger, then take them into your mouth, sucking on the tips. He makes a low, content noise, smiling. You bring his palm to your mouth, kissing it then licking the bones down to his wrist. It feels bumpy under your tongue, and when you press your tongue between the bumps you get a slight sense of the magic that keeps him together, like water running around rocks in a stream. You position his arm so it's stretched in front of you, then tentatively lick from the wrist to the elbow down one bone and up again the other one. He closes his eyes, shivering.

"and you like doing this?"

"It feels nice." You kiss the inside of the smaller bone. "Smooth... kinda warm." You lick one bone, then the other. "I can taste your magic on you." You dip your head, wedging your tongue in the space where the bones connect at his elbow and moving it quickly in and out. He catches his breath sharply, and you chuckle. "And I like the reaction I get from you."

"i'll take that as a yes," he says, smiling.

You kiss your way up the thicker top arm bone. "What's this one called?" you ask with your lips halfway up the bone.

"humerus. it's easy to remember 'cause it's your funny bone."

"Oh... that's, uh, that's humorous... right?" You pause. "That barely counts as a pun, doesn't it?"

He chuckles. "never apologize for a good bone pun. the humerus being humorous just doesn't get old."

You continue kissing your way up the humerus, then onto his shoulder blade. He bows his head as you shift positions, kneeling behind him. You run your fingers over the ridge of bone on the back of one shoulder blade up to the knobby part, which you start licking. He groans, and you laugh softly. "You like that?"

"sweetheart, i like everything you're doin' to me. keep it up."

"Good." You give the area another few licks, then pause. "I think of this part as a handle. Like this..." You put your hands on the knobby part of his shoulder blades and lean against him, pressing your breasts against the back of his ribcage. "See how convenient they are?"

This makes him laugh and put his hand to his forehead. "the handles, huh? that bit's actually called the acromion. but that won't be on the test."

"You're not really going to test me on skeletal anatomy, are you?"

"no, not really. i prefer to evaluate your approach to fieldwork."

"So, Professor Sans, you're saying there's nothing like hands-on experience?"

"well, i was really enjoying the tongue-on experience."

"In that case..." Holding on to his shoulder blades, you dip your head down and run the very tip of your tongue over the bones at the back of his neck. He groans, shifting underneath you. Emboldened by this, you start licking each bone and between the grooves. The effect of the magic between his bones feels stronger here, like an invisible presence sliding over your tongue. He tilts his head to one side, and you pounce on the target he offers, lavishing your tongue over each vertebrae as you hold on to one handle -- one acromion, you think to yourself with a smile -- and brush your other hand down the front of his spine. 

"you're torturing me," he growls, his spine arching under your hand. "i can be in charge now, right?"

"I'm nowhere _near_ done with you," you purr between licks. You slide your tongue up his neck as you bring your hand down his spine. He groans as you brush your fingers over the rounded top of his pelvis and tease the spot where the vertebrae meet the base of his skull with the tip of your tongue. The magic running through his bones pounds faster as you kiss and lick your way up the side of his head. 

You pause at the hole where his ear would be, if he had ears. "Uh, is this area particularly sensitive at all?" you ask, tracing your finger in a circle around it. 

He groans. "god yes."

"Mmmm," you answer with satisfaction, placing your hands back on the handles -- acronym? antonym? No, acromion, acromion, you're never going to remember -- and turning your full attention to the area. "What's this hole here called?" you ask between licks. "Seems strange to call it your ear..."

"technical term is the external acoustic meatus," Sans mumbles. You laugh, then tense up -- is he going to be offended that you're laughing at his anatomy? But he chuckles, too. "that's a mouthful, huh? acoustic meatus. sounds like the punchline to some joke. like, uhhh, i dunno, what kinda sandwich filling does a skeleton musician like?" He grumbles. "doesn't work out loud. pronunciation's all wrong."

You giggle. "Not to mention that you'd have to be a doctor or a skeleton to get that one! Is that how you think of those holes, though? I mean, if you feel an itch right here--" You lightly scratch behind the hole. "--do you think 'oh, my external acoustic meatus is really scratchy?' Or..." You smile wickedly. "When you're fantasizing about me, do you dream of saying 'lick my external acoustic meatus, you little bitch'?"

He chuckles. "nah, i actually just think of them as my ear holes. so..." He reaches back and grabs your wrists, squeezing them tightly. "lick my ear holes, you little bitch."

You're giggling as you apply your tongue to the area around the left ear hole. You then kiss the back of his skull all the way around to the other side, where you lick around the other ear hole as well. "Like that, master?"

"fuck yes."

You lick right over the ear hole, feeling a strange thrill as your tongue runs over bone and empty space. Then you pull back quickly. "Uh, was that too weird? Is it, like, bad for your skull if human saliva gets in there?"

He laughs. "you're overthinking it, kid. that felt amazing, do it again."

You oblige, putting one hand on the side of his neck, and he groans. Then a thought occurs to you. "Uh... I've got another stupid question..."

"no such thing as a stupid question. although sometimes the answers can be kinda goofy." In a lower voice, he continues "external acoustic meatus. never thought i'd get turned on by someone saying that."

"Well, uh... I've noticed it looks like you're breathing, even though you don't actually breathe, right?"

"yep. it's just a quirk of my body, not something i gotta do to survive."

"So would it feel weird if someone put their hands around your neck and squeezed?"

He chuckles. "that's a good question, not a stupid one. but damn, you weren't kidding when you said you had an active imagination."

"Hope it's not too annoying..." He's not paying you to interrogate him, after all.

"nah, it's kinda cute." Kinda cute! That approaches a personal compliment! You beam. "as for your question..." He shifts around so he's facing you. "dunno. no one's ever been suicidal enough to try offing me that way. but i'll let you try." 

"Uh... are you sure? It won't hurt you?"

"i don't have any breath to cut off. and my magic is in my bones, it's not like you'll interfere with its flow. so no, you won't hurt me, any more than if you tried squeezing another section of my spine." He grins. "an' now i wanna know how it feels too." He closes his eyes and stretches out his neck.

"Uh, okay, just stop me if it hurts..." You lay your hands lightly on the sides of his neck, then swallow as you encircle the vertebrae and push down lightly.

He chuckles. "softie. c'mon, you can go harder than that."

"All right..." You squeeze harder, pretending to yourself that it's like some kind of neck massage. He continues breathing all through it, his chest rising and falling, and when he starts talking his voice is normal.

"that feels kinda funny, but i think the effect is largely psychological. doesn't hurt or anything. i bet it'd feel better lower down on my spine."

"Okay..." You release his neck, then grasp his spine right above his pelvis with both hands and squeeze hard. "Well?"

"fuck. that really works for me," he reports, squirming underneath your hands as the knobs of his vertebrae press into your palms.

"I'll remember that," you say, moving one hand to his pelvis and sliding the other up and down his spine a few inches.

"i bet you will. how long 'til i can be in charge?"

"Not yet," you say acerbically. "I have more questions."

He chuckles. "funny little human. fire away."

"How's it feel if I --" You lean forward, holding onto one of his ribs for support, and tap your front teeth lightly against his sternum. 

He shudders. "feels weird, honestly."

"Good to know. What about..." You attempt a light bite on one of the vertebrae that make up his neck.

He shivers. "actually i kinda like that. try my clavicle." You look down at his bones blankly, and he taps one of the two long, thin bones running from his shoulder to his neck. "collarbone."

You take the suggestion, and he groans when you nibble on the bone. "harder." You follow the order, feeling a little bit like a dog with a bone, and he grabs your waist, gasping "fuck, i'm not sure if i like that or not." You aim for something between a nibble and a chomp, and he shivers and holds your waist tighter. "alright. i DO like that. but don't overdo it."

"Does it hurt?"

"no, not exactly, at least i think not the way you process hurt. it feels more like... i dunno, pure sensation. go lightly with it, but..." He looks at you in that way that makes you feel like he's evaluating you. "knowing you, you'll be able to put that move to good use."

"I certainly will," you say, smiling. He starts running his hands from your waist down to your ass, and you give one a sharp slap. "I'm not done yet. Hands off."

He puts his hands in the air, palms toward you as if surrendering. "alright, alright. what other experiments ya wanna run on this bag of bones?" he asks with feigned resignation.

"Just one, actually. Is there anything I can do to you that feels particularly good on your body?"

"uh... y'mean besides everything else you're doing to me?"

"I mean, like... like how humans like backrubs and foot rubs. They don't have to be sexy, they just feel good, especially if you're tired or you've been working hard. Is there anything like that for you?"

"oh, i get it. uh..." He considers this. "well... this might be hard for you to understand, but 's not just my bones that are sensitive. it's also kinda sensitive where they link up, even if it looks like there's nothing there."

"I noticed that I can kind of feel something, especially if I'm licking you..."

"an' y'mighta noticed that those handles you're so fond of, they don't exactly connect to my rib cage. they kinda slide over it. see, look," he says, turning around so his back is to you and rolling his shoulders. You watch with interest as the shoulder blades move. He really would be a perfect figure model... "so maybe just see what you can do with that space."

He leans forward. You scoot up right behind him and lay your hands flat on the base of his shoulder blades. You place your thumbs so that they're partially touching the edge of the shoulder blade and partially running over his rib bones, then slide them up and down. He groans, and you pause. "That's a happy groan, right?"

"oh yeah. keep it up," he mumbles, his voice dreamy. He leans forward, rounding his back and letting his shoulders slump down. In this position, there's enough space between the shoulder blades and the rib cage that you can slip your fingers between the bones. 

Sans catches his breath. "damn, kid. that feels incredible." You chuckle as you rub the pads of your fingers over his rib bones. Right here, the magic connecting him is strong enough you can feel it surrounding your fingers, and it's a strangely intimate experience. "can ya try an' get the backs of my shoulder blades?"

You withdraw your hands, then turn them palms up and slide them back between the bones. He exhales, relaxing further. "god that feels good."

"Because you can't reach it yourself, right? So if you got an itch under your shoulder blades, that'd be horrible..."

"no, i can reach that spot. just gotta go though my ribcage, see?" He puts one arm up into his ribcage and reaches toward his back, touching the tips of his fingers to yours through his ribs. "just feels a hell of a lot better to have those soft little fingers of yours doing it for me."

The way your fingers are touching through the cage of bone is surprisingly intimate. Your face feels hot, and you're grateful he has his back to you. "I didn't think at all about going through the ribcage like that... I wonder how it feels to have a body that's so open? It's like you're made of lace..."

This makes him chuckle. "i've been compared to a lot of things, but never to lace. i'm starting to like this imagination of yours."

If he was your boyfriend, now would be your turn for a back rub... Of course, there's the little detail of you being paid to service him, and you just can't bring yourself to ask your employer for something so indulgent. He might offer... but he doesn't. So you just ask "Is there anything else I could do that might feel good?"

"uh, why don't ya try that footrub?"

"I can do that," you say, scooting down toward the foot of the bed. "Here, lay down."

He lounges on the bed, putting his arms behind his head and stretching all the way down to his toes, and you take one foot in your hands, running your fingers over the bones. You're drawn to the bone that makes up the heel, wrapping your hand around it. "It seems like this one sticks out more than a human's would," you comment.

"nah, 's actually the same in humans. there's a tendon that connects to the top."

"I see..." You slide your fingers down his foot. As with his wrist, there's a part that seems bumpy, but the long bones that connect to his toes are more fused together than a human's would be, if you're remembering your human skeletal anatomy correctly. But there's still holes between them, and you try putting your fingers in them. He starts and jerks his foot away. You bounce up and down with delight. "Oh! Are your feet ticklish too?"

He groans. "maybe."

"That means yes!"

"yeah, it does. but go easy, ok? i'm not in the mood for a tickle fight."

"Sure. What about this part?" you ask, rubbing the soles of his feet. "Feels good?"

"uh, well... yeah, it feels nice, but i don't think it's the same as it is for humans."

"It doesn't give you that feeling of..." You exhale in an exaggerated way. "'Ahhh, that's just what I needed after a long day'?"

"not particularly. not in the way my shoulder blades do."

"What about..." You get on your belly and take his foot in your hand, kissing the tip of each toe. 

His toes curl up. "keep going." 

You take his big toe into your mouth, sucking on the tip first before licking up and down the bones. You run your tongue over and around his other toes as he groans. "god damn. now THAT works for me."

This isn't bad at all... his feet don't have sweat glands, so they don't smell in the way a human's would. Why were you once so worried about having sex with a skeleton? You smile to yourself as you kiss your way up the top of his foot and press your tongue over his knobby ankle. Pleasing this man is downright simple. Lots of kisses, liberal application of your tongue, a little shimmy when he has his magic on you and bingo, happy skeleton. You chuckle.

"what?" he asks, wiggling his toes.

You sit up and stretch. "I was just thinking, I used to think your body was kind of intimidating, but... well, you're really pretty easy." You start absently running your hand over one of his leg bones.

He chuckles as he props himself up on his elbows, looking up at you. "skeletons are easy, huh? professor sans'll have ya singing a different tune after the test."

"You said you weren't gonna test me," you protest.

"that was before ya got so overconfident, now maybe i gotta teach ya a lesson. what's that bone you got your hand on right now?"

"Uh... It's either the tibia or the fibula. But that's a trick question! You never told me which was which."

He chuckles. "tibia's the big one."

"Well, thank you for the lesson," you say archly, giving the tibia a pat. "Now that class is over..." You get back onto your belly and start licking the sensitive inside part of the bone for all you're worth, caressing the outside of the tibia and the fibia with both hands as you go. 

It has an immediate effect on him; he falls back onto the bed and growls, his legs shifting around underneath your hands and tongue. "seducing your teacher for extra credit, huh?"

"Maybe I'm just attracted to intelligence," you murmur between licks, and he chuckles in response. You continue licking his leg up towards his knees, give his patella a kiss -- being sure not to tickle it, although you're sorely tempted -- then continue kissing up the largest leg bone all the way up to his pelvis.

As you lick the rounded edges of his pelvis, you feel his magic spreading over your skin, covering your whole body. You feel it pushing at your labia, and you spread your legs, making a low, satisfied sound as you let him fill your cunt with it. "that's more like it. keep going, girl."

"I'm not done being in charge," you whimper, feeling his magic stimulating your labia and clit.

"eh, well. i like seeing ya squirm. wiggle for me." You hold on to his pelvis with both hands and shimmy, and his magic dances on your skin. His smile is smug. "you can be the boss a LITTLE longer. but i wouldn't expect it to last all that long if i was you." 

How to make the most of the time you have? You straddle him, resting your ass on his leg bones with his spine between your knees, and lean forward. You kiss and lick from the base of his neck to the tip of his sternum, feeling his magic pulsing underneath your tongue. He groans, putting his hands on your hips. You feel his magic expanding deep inside you, and you rock your hips from side to side. "you have no idea how good that feels..."

You shift yourself so that you're straddling his knees, and dip your head all the way down to his spine, licking it slowly from the pelvic bone up to the base of the ribcage. Is it big enough...? Yes. You keep licking as you slowly slide the top of your head into his ribcage.

He gasps, pressing down on your shoulders. "ok, now that's fucking weird." You draw your head back, and he says "no, no. keep going." 

"You sure I can't break you?"

He laughs. "you crack me up, kid. 's about intent, remember? the flip side of that is that it's hard to hurt a monster by accident. you could jump on my spine and i'd be fine."

"Do you want me to do that?"

"no, but i do want ya to keep doing that thing with my ribs."

So you do, although you can't actually go much further than you did before. You caress the inside of his ribcage with both hands and lick his spine, and he buckles underneath you, his magic moving quickly over your skin. "good god, girl. i thought i was kinky but you're taking the fucking biscuit here."

"Does it bother you?"

"fuck me," he says, his tone incredulous. "you kidding me? this is unbelievable. your hair against the inside of my ribs... your tongue on my spine... you better get used to it, 'cause you'll be right back here next time," he growls. You smile. It's somehow endearing to know that Sans can feel insecure about his body, but it's good to hear him sounding like himself again. "you probably got about five minutes until I'm back in charge. just lettin' ya know." You shimmy, and he runs his hands up and down your back. "four now."

"That's unfair!" 

He laughs. "then make'em count." You feel his magic vibrating against your clit. "s'pose you're gonna tell me that's unfair too. whiny little human."

You'll show him. You scoot down so that you're straddling his knees. The way he's stimulating your clit with his magic is distracting, but you inspect his pelvis, kissing the rounded top edge on one side while caressing the other side. He makes low, growling noises and places his hands on your shoulders as you lick your way down the bone. This part is one of the visually interesting sections of his body, you decide, with the rows of holes on each side and the bit that looks like a tiny tail at the end. Remembering the way he reacted when you've touched his tailbone before, you decide to try something. However, getting in place proves to be a bit awkward.

"the hell are you doing?"

"My four minutes aren't up yet. Be patient."

It takes careful positioning, with your chin all the way down inside his pelvis, but you're able to reach the very tip of his tailbone with your tongue, then slip it between your lips. "oh FUCK," he growls, his hands tightening over your shoulders. 

You stop and look up at him. "I couldn't tell if that was good or bad."

He pushes your head back down. "you're killing me here. keep fucking going." Your chin hits the bone as you try to get back in position, and you yelp. You feel his body tense up, and he stops pushing. "shit. you ok?"

You rub your jaw. "Yeah, this is just kind of hard to maneuver..."

"easy fix. here." He turns around so he's on his front, bringing his tailbone up in the air. You get on your hands and knees to suck on it, and he groans, his body shifting underneath yours. Next, you investigate the part above the tip of the tailbone with your tongue, poking the tip of your tongue into each little hole while you rub the tip of his tailbone. 

"oh my god," he moans into the bed as his magic intensifies over your body and on your clit. "what the hell are you even doing to me?"

You give the tip of his tailbone a kiss before replying "I'm trying to make you forget that anyone but me has _ever_ touched you."

"well, you're doing a damn good job," he groans as you start sucking again. "right. i'm in charge now. an' i'm ordering you to keep going." You chuckle with the bone in your mouth, hooking your fingers in the loops of bone at the base of his pelvic bone. You feel him breathe in sharply. The magic in your cunt seems to solidify, and you feel him start to fuck you. 

"god, you have no idea how good this feels," he growls. You chuckle, sucking even harder, and he groans. "you're gonna get it now. spread your legs for me and keep that tongue moving, you filthy little slut." You whimper, spreading your legs even further for him, and you feel his cock going further inside you, filling you up. You lavish your tongue on his tailbone, squeezing your lips around it, and he buckles under you, his magic stimulating every inch of your skin and his cock thrusting in and out of you. "fuck, you're too much..." You feel one last powerful thrust, and his magic shoots deep inside you as he shudders. His cock vanishes, but you keep sucking on his tailbone as his cum starts to trickle out of you, and he makes an interesting series of noises. "oh god kid stop i can't take it anymore."

You sit next to him on the bed. He's still laying on his front, his eyes closed. His bones rattle as his body twitches from time to time. "that was... fuck. give me a minute."

"It was pretty good, right?"

"saucy little human. said to give me a minute."

"Do I get to come too?" He groans, and you laugh. "You meant to get me off first, didn't you? And I was too much for you." 

He covers his head with a pillow, grumbling. You can barely hear him admit "fuck me. yes. yes i did. and yes you were." He lifts the pillow slightly, narrowing his eyes at you. "and just for that triumphant look in your eye... no. you gotta wait."

"Awwwww! Come on, Sans..."

He laughs, putting his head back on the pillow, pulling you down with him and draping his arm over your shoulders.

* _that was incredible._

* _it's been a damn long time since anyone just... enjoyed me like that._

* _she's everything i could have asked for. i felt drawn toward her from the beginning... and my intuition sure didn't steer me wrong._

* _fuck the resets and all, but if i go to my lab tonight and find that we relived this evening a bunch of times..._

* _well, maybe i'd owe that fucker one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go... I promised seven kisses, and seven kisses is what you got! (Plus, well, a little more.) This unhurried, intimate sex scene is one of my favorites in APJFM, and I hope you enjoyed it too.
> 
> Chapter 21 will be published in around two weeks -- so let's say the weekend of the 25th, or maybe a little before. Will Sans really be able to deny Reader that orgasm? Or does she have him wrapped around her finger a little more than he realizes? Subscribe now and you'll find out soon!
> 
> Thanks to [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for beta reading for me! She's actually on hiatus, but she did great work on the first go-round of this sequence and gave me excellent suggestions for expanding it into what you're reading now.
> 
> icingsugarfrosting created a [cute piece of fanart for chapter 9!](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/167209556295/icingsugarfrosting-taking-up-sans-robe-from-a) I love seeing Reader looking both sexy and industrious, it's nice to see this scene instead of just imagining it. Thank you!
> 
> Did you get your questions in for the [Ask the APJFM Cast event](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/164423631880/ask-the-apjfm-cast-round-2)? It's now over, and I will not be taking any more questions until the next go-round... whenever that may be. However, I do have one question that I received several weeks ago and wanted to post after Chapter 20, so watch my tumblr for that one. I've only had a couple of questions between 19 and 20, but they were good ones:
> 
>  
> 
> [Has Sans ever killed a monster?](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/166696632865/sans-we-all-know-youve-killed-humans-for-your%0A)  
> [Adaleia and Ionathia talk about how their friend has changed.](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/167060428625/ionathea-and-adaleia-1-your-names-are-rad-as%0A)  
> [If Reader accidentally dusted Sans, how would she get rid of the evidence?](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/166813447535/hypothetical-question-for-reader-lets-say-you)
> 
>  
> 
> The unwritten chunk of the story is progressing very slowly, mostly just due to time constraints. A lot of writing and editing I can do casually, but for this I need to be in a flow state... not easy with work and a baby around. I do have a detailed outline of what happens, so I just have to buckle down and do the first draft. If I publish a chapter every two weeks, I will still likely have a mini-hiatus between chapter 23 and 24. Apologies in advance for that, especially considering where 23 leaves off. There will be status updates on my tumblr, <https://neroli9.tumblr.com>.
> 
> Here's a [calendar to the end of chapter 20](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/169554618160/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-20).


	21. his girl (explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just for Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/167804003650/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

Sans is silent for so long that you think he might have fallen asleep, and you smile fondly at him. He really is cute... With his eyes closed and his smile relaxed, he looks downright peaceful. You study him for several minutes, until he opens his eyes and stretches.

You stretch too, trying to ignore the ache in your lower body that's begging for a second round. Still, you got him off first! You can't help but feel smug about that. "Did I get an A, Professor?"

He chuckles. "you still got some technical terms to learn. but your research technique is top-notch. an' ya know, i could use an assistant." 

You beam, wiggling your hips. "I'll do my best! And I'll start working on those puzzles tonight."

"sounds good," is all he says, but the spots of light in his eyes brighten.

* _it's odd to think that it's just been nine days since we met in this apartment for the first time. it feels like it's been longer... in a good way._

* _earlier today someone asked what i'm looking so cheerful for lately. i made some dumbass pun back at them, and they were taken off-guard._

* _my sense of humor got fucking dark, after pap died. they didn't know i had it in me to be so light-hearted..._

That's a promising sign, when his eyes do that. An idea comes to you, and you smile. "But it's going to be _so_ hard to concentrate," you continue in a plaintive voice, cuddling up to him and grinding your hips against him. "I don't know how you expect me to make you a puzzle when I'm like this..."

"you'll figure it out."

"Oh, but Sans, I'm not even sure I _remember_ my name..."

He smacks his hand to his forehead and chuckles. "all right, all right already. i'll let you come, you little minx. but i got one condition."

"Yeah?" you ask, wiggling your hips.

"i wanna watch you do it."

"You're not going to help me?" you protest. 

He turns to look at you, propping himself up on his arm. "i'm gonna enjoy the show."

"If that's the best offer I'm going to get," you say in long-suffering tones, rolling onto your back.

"it's more generous than you deserve," he grumbles. "show me whatcha got, sweetheart."

You cup your breasts in your hands, then start playing with the nipples. You glance over at him, then close your eyes as blood rushes to your cheeks. The way he's looking at you is intense, as if he's curious and horny both at once. It makes you feel exposed, knowing that you're showing him something so intimate.

When you'd worked for Muffet, you'd had a couple of clients who wanted to watch you masturbate. One, you thought, was deriving pleasure from the sight; one was simply curious about how human women orgasm. In both cases you'd felt almost unbearably awkward and embarrassed, but you'd done it; you were doing a job, you told yourself, you chose to do this, you're working to make Sasha comfortable, just get it over with. 

You open your eyes and glance at Sans again. It's still technically a job with him, too, but it feels different... Your desire to captivate this man overcomes your embarrassment at exposing yourself this way. So he wants a show, does he? You'll give him a show that he remembers every time he gets himself off.

Your mind pulls up one of your go-to fantasies. It starts with you returning to the apartment for Sasha's book, and although it's past the time you've agreed on Sans slams you against the door and steals a kiss from you. You part your lips and close your eyes, your breathing becoming heavier as you remember the feeling of his mouth pressing on yours. It had felt both sensual and scary, knowing that he knew he was going against the deal and that he was taking what he wanted from you anyway. But instead of teleporting you down to the lobby, as he did in reality, you imagine him forcing himself on you. 

Possessed by lust for you, he rips your clothes off your body. Your hands slide over your belly as you picture your dress being torn off, then back up to your breasts as you imagine his hands on them, groping at you as if he has every right to touch you whenever he wants, however he wants. When you remind him of the deal, he slaps you so hard it makes tears come to your eyes. In your fantasy, he further punishes your insolence by sinking his teeth into your neck - you gasp, angling your head to the side -- and when you cry out in pain he calls you a pathetic human and growls at you to shut the fuck up. One hand slides down to your vulva, already slick with your arousal and his cum, and you stroke your folds with your fingers, coating them with wetness as your other hand pinches lightly at your nipple. You're putting on a show for Sans, arching your back and squirming more than you usually would and letting yourself make soft, sensual moans and gasps as you touch yourself.

In your imagination, he turns you around so your chest is pressed up against the wall and tears off your underwear. He forms his cock, pressing it up against your ass as you protest weakly. You spread your labia with your fingers as you picture him driving it deep into your cunt. 

The height difference means that position wouldn't work too well, some overly literal part of your mind complains. Thanks a lot, mind. In your fantasy, you supply a convenient stepstool, and the image of Sans standing on it with his cock out distracts you, making you snort with laughter.

Well, that was embarrassing. You open your eyes and glance at Sans. He glances back, his brow ridges raised. "what?" 

"Nothing," you murmur, closing your eyes again and slipping back into your fantasy.

You imagine his cock penetrating you, sheathing itself deep within your cunt. Your cries of pain and fear only spur him to fuck you all the harder. In your mind you plead for him to stop, but he puts his hand over your throat and reminds you that you belong to him, that your job is to take his cum. So be a good girl and spread your legs, he snarls as his cock pounds inside you. In your imagination he comes hard, filling you up with cum, but you're not quite there yet so he somehow becomes able to orgasm several times in a row, your fingers moving quickly over your clit as you envision his cock pumping improbable amounts of cum inside of you. He calls you a filthy slut, he uses you for his own pleasure and you feel yourself getting close, concentrating on the feeling of getting fucked again and again, your body ravaged against your will, the tension in your body rises as you rub your clit and nipple and hold that feeling in your mind of Sans overpowering you, Sans deep inside you, Sans needing you --

Your orgasm rocks your body, and you breathe heavily as it overwhelms you, trailing your fingers lightly over your unbearably sensitive vulva. Your face contorts as as if in pain, which hopefully doesn't lessen his enjoyment of the show. Your legs stretch out involuntarily, and you gasp and moan, your heart pounding. "Sans," you cry as your muscles contract again.

You distantly sense him growling and shifting around next to you, then climbing on top of you. His knee parts your legs. Before you're even fully aware of what's happened his cock is back inside you, and he's pounding away at your helpless, weakened body. You moan, overwhelmed by stimulation, able to do nothing but lay there and take it. This seems to be all he requires from you. 

He snarls and crushes you to him, holding the back of your head and forcing his fingers into your mouth as he uses your cunt. You make a token effort to lick his fingers, but you're still so dazed that you soon give up and let him have his way with you. The feeling of his cock invading your body and stretching you out is almost unbearable given how sensitive you are after orgasm, and you cling to him, whimpering after every thrust and flutter of your muscles.

"god you're so tight," he mumbles, his voice husky. "you're my perfect little whore."

With his fingers hooked over your bottom teeth, the only response you can make is a whimper, but a thrill goes through your whole body at his words. For someone who's turned on by degradation, that's high praise indeed... The pain of his elbow digging into your chest with every thrust brings you out of the trance of orgasm even as it heightens the pleasure you take in getting fucked, and you tighten your lips around his fingers and endure it for him. Right now everything feels right, and you lose yourself in submission as he slams his cock into you over and over.

He squeezes your jaw, his wrist pressed hard against your chin, and his other hand closes over your scalp, grabbing a section of your hair. He must be close now, he's grunting and pounding away at you with increased intensity. You bite down on his fingers to ease your pain -- not too hard, some part of you cautions, fearful of hurting him even as he yanks at your hair and his elbow digs into your flesh.

"bite harder," he snarls. "i want to know i'm hurting you."

Given the freedom to express your pain with your teeth, you bite down sharply, your body tensing up. He growls in response, a dangerous, bestial sound, and seems to lose all control, forcing himself on you with a brutality that sends shocks of pain all through you. You whimper and go limp, conscious only of the parts of your body where the pain and pleasure are strongest. Your jaw slackens and your legs feel weak. Sans' growl is triumphant as he holds your head and forces his cock inside you one last time. He makes rough, guttural noises as warmth blossoms deep within your cunt. "Master," you whimper as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

"good girl. good girl," he mumbles as he lets go of your hair. He rolls off of you onto his back, breathing heavily. "you knew exactly what that would do to me, didn't you?"

You'd really just wanted to get yourself off, but sure, if he wants to think of you as some sort of master temptress you can work with that. You limit your answer to a low, knowing chuckle as you snuggle up to him. "Thank you... that did wonders for my memory..."

He chuckles, folding his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. "i bet."

You rub the spot on your chest where Sans' elbow pressed into you, smiling. It still hurts like hell... there'll probably be a bruise there tomorrow. What would he make of the fact that you'd just got off to a fantasy of being raped by him? If he had actually done it, that day when you'd returned for your book, you probably wouldn't have actually protested, considering how much is now riding on keeping him happy... but you would have felt powerless and betrayed, knowing that whatever he might have said, he actually viewed your agreement with him as something he could ignore at any time. But transmuted into a fantasy, something you control, the scenario turns into something so arousing that this is hardly the first time you've used it to bring yourself to orgasm.

Well, he doesn't need to know. You grin as you cuddle up to him.

You let him recover for a few minutes before you run your fingers down his sternum. "Um... So, I was kinda curious about something... About your work, I mean..."

He turns his head to look at you, raising an eyebrow. "hmm. you can ask, but i'm not promising an answer."

"Well... you could probably use your magic to fight, right? If you need to..."

He seems amused by this. "i could."

"Uh... then why do you carry a gun?"

"hm." He ponders this for a moment. "i like to keep my options open. sometimes magic's the right tool for the job. sometimes human tools work better. carrying it always works in my favor."

"I see..." 

"an' i'm not necessarily talking about the kinda job you're thinking," he says, grinning. "for example, i might wanna cause a distraction, or clear out a room quick. so..." He looks up at the ceiling, makes a gun with his fingers, closes one eye socket and pretends to shoot it up into the ceiling. "bang."

You shudder as he continues "plus, humans are funny. as a species, you're really bad at evaluating risk. so there's some humans who'd treat me with the proper caution whether i was carrying a gun or not. but there's a lot more who respect guns as a symbol of power, so even if it's just subconscious they get a little over-confident if they know they've got one and i don't."

"So what you're saying is that humans think a magic skeleton with a gun is scarier than a magic skeleton without a gun."

The bone around his eye sockets crinkles up in amusement. "exactly."

"You must think we're a pretty silly species..."

He shrugs. "it works to my advantage. it's all a matter of knowing when to work within human expectations and when to confound them."

"How so?"

"take the suit." He gestures dismissively to the floor near the closet, where the components of his suit lay in a crumpled heap. "the more expensive fabric a man piles on his carcass, the more seriously other humans take him. which means that if ya try to worm some information outta some poor sucker, there's less resistance if ya got the uniform he expects to see. so..." He shrugs. "i wear a suit, same as the rest of'em."

"It does look good on you," you say shyly, running your hand over his skull.

"yeah, i couldn't help but notice it has an effect on you human women, too."

There's a certain smugness in his voice, and you feel a stab of jealousy. "I suppose every speakeasy you go to, they're falling all over you?"

* _she sure doesn't like THAT idea._

* _worried about her job security, i suppose._

He chuckles. "depends on if i'm bringing the kinda booze they like. i seem to get extra popular with the ladies when i show up with a crate of echo wine."

"I can imagine," you say, your tone acerbic. 

He rolls onto his side and props himself up on one elbow, then pats your head. "c'mon, kid, don't go getting jealous of a bunch of barflies now. 'sides, you probably got fellas throwing themselves at your feet as you walk."

His tone is so light you can't really tell if he's kidding or not. "Hardly!"

* _yeah? what about mr. 'hey, let me see your sketches'?_

* _no... it's unfair to bring up something that happened on her time off._

* _she acted with perfect propriety, well within the bounds of our agreement. and it's not like it's really my business what she does outside this apartment._

* _just because she flirted with him a little bit, doesn't mean anything. just because it was written all over his face that he wanted her, doesn't mean anything. just because he looked like a smarmy, forward, smooth-talking bastard --_

* _... come on, sans. this is all such a nice fantasy. don't make it weird._

He grins. "well, you just remember our deal. i'm, uh..."

* _a possessive kind of guy?_

* _since when?_

"i don't have time for competition."

You raise an eyebrow. "I remember."

There's an awkward silence.

* _because as much fun as all this is..._

* _as much as i like having a little human whose touch makes my soul swell in my bones, someone who hangs on my words with wide-eyed intensity, someone i get off on thinking of as mine..._

* _i'm here because i want a distraction. and she's here because i'm paying her._

Hoping to change the subject and learn more about Sans, you ask "So... how did you get started working with humans?"

"uh, well, that's a long story," he says, rubbing his head. "and i hate to cut this short, but there's shit going on tonight..." He sits up and gets out of bed, starting to put his clothes back on. "you want your robe?"

No answer, huh? Maybe he'll be more forthcoming another day. "Please," you say. 

Sans steps into the closet and tosses you something that is not your old cotton robe. You run it through your fingers, taking a deep breath. When you look up, he's leaning against the doorframe, watching you curiously.

"never done any shopping for dames. but it's hard to mess up a robe, right? see if it fits."

You stand up and wrap it around you, tying the sash in a bow at your waist. It's a vibrant emerald green robe trimmed with white lace, and it feels supple and delicate against your skin. It skims your body, clinging to you, and your nipples poke out under the thin silk. You smooth it down over your thighs. 

"It's perfect," you say, your voice reverent. You haven't touched anything this nice since you left the surface. You go to him, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing his face all over. "Thank you, Sans!"

He runs his hands over you, feeling your back, then your ass, then your arms through the fabric. "well. you oughta get something outta being my girl."

Out of being... what?

You catch your breath as Sans continues, "it suits you. the color, too."

You look down at yourself. "You were thinking of my soul, right?"

"yeah. that an' it just plain looks good on ya," he says, winking. "i kinda just... eye-socketed the size," he says, looking at you. "they said i'd need some sorta numbers if i wanted to get anything more complicated."

"My measurements," you say, and he nods.

"yeah, that's the word."

"I'll write those down for you," you say, and his eyes gleam. 

"good." His eyes travel up and down your body. "be kinda nice to stick around a little longer an' admire it on ya, but..." He takes a deep breath, then exhales. "like i said, shit's going on. so..." He regards you for a moment, then kisses your lips and releases you. "thanks for tonight, kid. i don't know about tomorrow, so watch for a note. sleep well." He vanishes before you can say anything in return.

You stand in front of the mirror, admiring yourself in the robe he gave you. 

His girl.

You pose like your favorite sexy starlet, giggling as you put one hand on your hip and one hand on the back of your head and thrust out your hips.

His girl. 

You pose as if you're the innocent heroine of a silent film, tilting your head to the side, folding your hands together next to your cheek and batting your eyelashes at yourself. 

His girl. 

You twirl around until you're dizzy, feeling the skirt of the robe gather and unfurl around your legs, then fall backward onto the bed, laughing.

His girl!

Sans calls you 'girl' all the time... but the addition of one tiny little word makes such a huge difference!

The way he said it was so casual. How long has he been thinking of you like that? Somehow you've been promoted without even knowing it. 

It can't mean as much to him as it does to you, you remind yourself. To him, no doubt, it's just a statement of fact. You're a human female that he basically owns. Why shouldn't he think of you as his girl? It's really not all that different from how he calls you 'my human.' 

Except... it sure feels different.

Don't let yourself get carried away just because you have a stupid crush, you lecture yourself. He set up this arrangement so he can have sex on demand. He seems to like you well enough, sure... he enjoys your company, and he seemed so affected by your saying you liked him... That doesn't mean you can mistake any of this for something real. Remember what you told your sister? He has a stressful life, and he likes the way you make him feel. He seemed to enjoy telling you about his work, basking in your wide-eyed admiration of him. He definitely liked the way you explored his body without reserve or fear. He took obvious pleasure in your reaction to his gift, at seeing a human whose body he's attracted to wearing something fine and beautiful. Sure, all of that made you happy, too, but it's only a side effect of his getting what he wants out of the arrangement. 

You're not thinking, you scold yourself. Maybe Sans isn't exactly a hit man, but he's still every bit as dangerous as one. He might as well be a gangster, whatever he might call himself, and you swore you wouldn't get involved with one of those again, not after it nearly got you murdered. 

And although he's charmed you, it's all on a superficial level... he's essentially bought a pseudo-relationship with you. It's not like he truly knows anything about you, and you hardly know anything about him. Just because he wants to know your name, that doesn't mean anything -- it just means monster nature is not all that different from human nature, if he wants what he can't have. You've been sharing the part of yourself that's playful, curious and sweet, but he'd probably run if he was faced with your obsessive side, your deep anxieties and neediness, or your ice queen tendencies. And God knows what he would think of you if he knew who you were, if he knew you were from the surface. 

It would be such a mistake to fall for this guy...

... any more than you already have.

You take off your robe with regret... but you'll regret it even more if you get food on it, you tell yourself as you get dressed. Plus, you'd like to read the news, and the guy at the nearby newsstand would get an eyeful if you went out wrapped in nothing but bias-cut satin. Decent once again, you run out for a paper, then throw together some dinner. 

There isn't all that much going on... More gangsters at each other's throats... you think you recognize some of the names from Jack's patter at the dance hall the other day. You shudder; this area is Carpainter territory, and it's not a good sign if a lot of their people are getting into fights and dying... You'll just have to be careful, you think as you keep reading. There's some rare pictures of the king of New Ebott, riding horses and shaking the Prime Minister's hand... It's unusual to actually see pictures from the surface, and you wonder if it's an attempt to reassure people that the king's health has recovered, after he supposedly had a heart attack earlier this year. You study the pictures, frowning. Jerren definitely has his father's nose, and there's a distinct resemblance in the jawline, but he has his mother's eyes, you think... all combining to make him quite handsome. You turn the page, feeling a little strange about having a fleeting thought about Jerren that was admiring, not scornful. George Hatherley, a politician now better known for being the father of the kidnapped and miraculously returned Baby Kitty than for his legislative achievements, has backed some legislation reducing the restrictions on the sale of certain types of monster food and items in human territory. Considering that he had a hand in placing the restrictions in the first place, this comes as a surprise. There's nothing about you and Sasha, thankfully. Because Jerren is suppressing stories about you, you remember... with, for the second time tonight, a strange feeling of warmth toward him.

You put your robe back on after you've eaten, reveling in the sleek fabric and the certain knowledge that Sans must have gone to some trouble to buy you something so amazing. Any place you can think of where he might have bought something so expensive would be inhospitable to monsters, although he apparently has his ways. He didn't just steal it, did he? Stealing would be so easy for him, given that he can teleport... and doesn't leave fingerprints. No, he mentioned that 'they' said to get your measurements, so he must have talked to a human somewhere in the process. You jot down your measurements in the notebook, then start doodling in your sketchbook, idly reproducing the lace on the sleeve. 

What kind of puzzles can you make for Sans? You aren't going to make this easy for him, you think to yourself with a wicked grin. As a matter of fact, you are going to make that man work for your name. Until he knows it, he can just call you his girl, he can call you that all he wants... But until then, he's going to suffer for every letter. And you're going to impress him, oh yes, if he thought those little doodles were good you're gonna impress the pants off of him... not that it is all that hard to get Sans out of his pants, but still the point stands that this is your chance to show off.

A thought strikes you, and you turn the page, starting to sketch thin lines. Another thought pushes the first one out of the way, and you turn the page again, starting over.

After a few hours of work, you've made good progress on an intricate maze. There's five pathways at the top, with a letter next to each starting point, but only one way out. You grin as you inspect your work. A little more time spent on the maze itself, and a little time making it all pretty, and you should be able to give it to him soon! You can almost hear him saying your name as you curl up in bed, still wearing your robe.

\-----

Sans teleports in around 3 am the next morning and immediately checks the notebook, then frowns.

* _no puzzle yet?_

* _well, as long as i'm here..._

He appears in the bedroom, sitting on the vanity chair and leaning on the back as he looks at you.

* _she's still wearing that robe?_

* _guess all the bullshit i went through to buy it was worth it, then. god she looks so good._

* _can't help but wonder..._

* _what the hell would she think if she knew we all stopped existing for a couple hours last night?_

* _even for me, this particular pattern of the anomaly's is hard to wrap my skull around._

* _on march 3, 1924, after hundreds of years worth of resets, the anomaly split one timeline into two. the timeline we're experiencing right now -- the main timeline -- has since been mangled in thousands of ways over thousands of years, almost always ending before or during 1934 with a jump back to that day in 1924._

* _but every so often, the anomaly somehow switches to the other timeline it created that day... what i call the black hole timeline. during the time it spends there, the main timeline temporarily stops existing, as if we've been wadded up and stuffed into the anomaly's pocket while it plays with another toy._

* _it never spends all that long there. a few hours, sometimes. maybe even a day or two. when it's done, it often -- although not always -- resets away the time it spent there. then it takes its favorite toy back out of its pocket, and tucks away the mystery timeline._

* _when the anomaly returns to the main timeline, we go about our lives never knowing about our brush with nonexistence. although i have noticed that the more time the anomaly spends in the black hole timeline, the gloomier both humans and monsters tend to be afterward. if it's just a couple of hours, like it was this last time, the effect is unnoticeable... but when it spends whole days there, or makes several trips in succession, all of new ebott seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed the next day._

* _the black hole timeline raises so many questions. the most obvious one is, of course, what the hell is it for?_

* _is the anomaly visiting something or someone? inspecting something? recharging somehow? fucking with me, if it's aware of just how precisely i can chart its activity?_

* _there have been other timelines in which the anomaly seems to have created a third major timeline, sometimes even a fourth. it switches between them, but when the main timeline resets back to 1924, the secondary timelines end as well. why? when the main timeline is split like that, there's a decreased overall level of reset activity in both timelines. so my guess is that it's changing a variable, then seeing how that affects the timeline... but of course i can't really know. how many timelines can it create? does that tax its powers, or is it a simple matter? how does it end a timeline? what happens to the timelines after the anomaly is done with them?_

* _what does the sans in the black hole timeline make of it? time passes there in a linear fashion, but due to the anomaly's habit of resetting away the bulk of the time it spends there, its average visit only lasts for a few seconds. from his perspective, time has hardly passed... thousands of years later, it's still march of 1924 for him._

* _how does he cope, knowing that he lives his life seconds at a time? the poor fucker must be a nervous wreck._

* _well, at least he has papyrus._

* _there's one more notable fact about this mystery..._

* _every major reset has been preceded by a cluster of trips to the black hole timeline._

* _this is not to say every cluster of trips precedes a reset. a couple of years ago, i was dead sure that the reset was anywhere from an hour to a week away, based on my reading of the patterns. obviously i was disappointed._

* _but last night was just a single trip... it spent an hour and a half in the black hole timeline, then reset its activity away and returned to this timeline, such that the total time the timeline actually advanced was three seconds. so i don't think this is a sign of a reset, just the anomaly going about its creepy-ass, worthless business._

* _too bad. still... we're getting closer and closer to 1934. and the odds are very, very good this all ends in 1934._

* _i don't know what the hell happens in 1934. can't be the end of the world, the timeline HAS gone a little further than that year a handful of times. which doesn't necessarily rule out an apocalyptic scenario... those outlier timelines could have been the anomaly testing life in a ruined world and deciding it likes life better before the giant asteroid hits, or whatever. maybe its natural life ends in 1936 -- the latest it's ever gone -- but the preceding years aren't exactly a picnic? perhaps it contracts whitepox, and something is different about the handful of timelines that go past 1934, but in most of them it can't be saved? or maybe someone important to it dies, and it can't find a way to change that person's fate? what if it's made a deal with the devil, and a decade is all it gets, except for a couple of timelines where it's found a loophole?_

* _could be none of the above. i have no idea what guides its decision making besides pure fucking cruelty._

* _either way, the outcome is the same for me..._

* _i'll get papyrus back, and the actions i've taken in this timeline will be wiped away. goodbye freelancing, goodbye human fetish. i wasn't into humans in 1924... and indeed, wouldn't have had the faintest idea what to do with one._

* _dead eyes will have never existed. and he'll never have bought a little human with a green soul._

* _it's been fun... she's a good gal. she's playing her role perfectly for me. but all in all, when the end comes, i'll greet it with no regrets._

* _well... maybe one? for all she's brightened up my life, i owe her at least a proper goodbye._

* _but even if it's all but certain the reset is imminent, i could hardly let her know that her world as she knows it is coming to an end yet again. it'd be cruel to trouble the girl over something she can't control or understand. and i might not even know it's coming, if the black holes and the reset come fairly close together._

* _perhaps if i suspect the end is near, then instead of saying goodbye, i'll throw my rule against drinking with other people out the window and get wasted as fuck with her. that sounds appropriate._

* _until then, i've barely scratched the surface of the pleasure she has to offer. so until the anomaly is ready to reset, the months will fly by._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, here's something to be thankful for! Now we're getting into that rape/non-con fantasies tag a little bit. For the time being, the fantasies in question are just in Sans and Reader's heads, but at some point far in the future they may be shared and perhaps even acted out. When this happens, it will be well telegraphed! (When it comes to rape fantasies, I don't really know what the ratio of "not into that" readers to "oh God yes I've been waiting eighty chapters for this" readers is. I guess we'll find out.)
> 
> I hope the stuff about the black hole timeline made sense, and I'd like to invite you to really think about life from the perspective of the Sans in that timeline. As the main timeline Sans noted in chapter 17, on March 2, 1924, he thought he generally knew how the anomaly and the world worked... and on March 3, he found out that the timeline had exploded, that thousands of years had passed while he slept, that at the end of the last timeline he might have fought the anomaly, and that it was embarking on yet another go-round of the same span of time. The black hole timeline Sans, however, found out on March 3rd that since the last time he'd checked the data, the anomaly had continually relived the same chunk of time in another timeline, only coming to this timeline periodically. Even just realizing the truth took him the equivalent of decades of the anomaly’s time. That is, while main timeline Sans had to grapple with the idea of his experiences constantly being reset away, black hole Sans had to understand that what seems like a continuous span of time is actually lived seconds at a time over the course of centuries, while some other Sans in the parallel timeline is being constantly reset. At some point, I'll write out what a day in his life looks like.
> 
> APJFM started as nothing more than a way to write sex scenes designed to turn me on without triggering my internal "this is implausible" alert (which you see in this chapter, incidentally, when Reader pictures Sans on a stepstool). At the time, I did not know that the story it would eventually lead to would get so dark. But what's happening to Sans in the black hole timeline is a merciful, blessed existence compared to what the future holds for his main timeline counterpart. I'm warning you now, before the anomaly makes its move, because deep down I'm soft-hearted and I fear upsetting readers who were just looking for dom!Sans in a suit. 
> 
> But I promise there'll be a happy ending.
> 
> [yanderebunny303](http://yanderebunny303.tumblr.com) drew this adorable picture of Sans and Reader kissing -- she didn't specify, but in my mind I think of it as one of the thank-you kisses from the start of chapter 20. Thank you!
> 
> As always, thanks to [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for beta reading: she's still on hiatus, but she was amazing when I was going through all this for the first time! (I'm twitchy about posting the black hole timeline stuff without her input... if you ever come back to that section and it makes 40% more sense, you'll know she's come back from hiatus.)
> 
> Want to know what it takes to really piss off Reader? Come back next time to find out. (And no, it's not Sans who's responsible.) I will post it in another two weeks -- so around the weekend of the 8th.
> 
> Here's the [calendar to chapter 21](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/169554635155/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-21).


	22. just this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just for Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/168263437530/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

The next day, your thoughts are consumed by all that happened the night before. Sans shared so much with you, the sex was fantastic, he gave you such a beautiful present...

And he called you his girl. His girl. The words sing in your mind from the moment you wake up until you float into your sister's room.

"You're looking cheerful," Sasha observes, her voice dry. Although the doctor had just told you that your sister is showing definite signs of improvement with the new treatment regime, she seems rather on edge. When you'd arrived, she'd been looking out the window, toward the Courtyard.

"Yesterday was magical," you answer, twirling around and falling into your chair with a dreamy air.

Her expression darkens. "If it's about Stepstool Man, I don't want to hear it," she grumbles.

"No?" You lean forward, grinning conspiratorially. "You don't want to hear about how we hit half the banks in New Ebott yesterday?"

"No."

"We stole so much cash you could swim in it!"

She puts her hands over her ears and growls.

"Then we took it all to the wildest speakeasy in the city and got so drunk we stripped down and danced naked on the tables!"

"Stop it."

"And someone got mad at us and Stepstool Man made jokes about his mother! Turned out the guy was the leader of the biggest --"

"I said _stop_!" Sasha snaps. "This is _not funny_ to me!"

Crap... you really have gone too far. Apparently, stories about how you got your money by robbing banks are only funny to her when she thinks of you as her respectable, cautious sister who stays firmly on the right side of the law. "I'm sorry, Sasha. You know we didn't do any of that."

"I know, but -- but that's not the point!"

"I know," you answer, shifting awkwardly in your seat.

She's silent for a minute, weighing her words in a rather un-Sasha-like fashion. "Look, I didn't want to bring this up, but... you remember Louis and Marie?"

You swallow. "Yeah."

"But... not that night... right?"

She's right. Due, you suppose, to the trauma of that evening, most of what happened is a blank in your memories. You just remember the barrel of a gun; no memory of the person holding it, no memory of Louis and Marie. Then later, Sasha handing you a suitcase she'd packed already. You nod.

"I remember it, though," she says in a small voice. "I mean, I was upstairs when it happened, but..."

But she would have heard the shots. And in the next memory you have of that night, you're wearing different clothes. You've never quite been able to ask if she helped you change.

Her expression is grim as she continues "I mean, I don't want to talk about it either, I'm just saying... I tried to warn you then too."

Sasha only revealed her ability after Louis and Marie's deaths. When she started insisting on leaving the house shortly before midnight, you just thought the stress of going into hiding had got to her. 

"I know... I'm sorry, I wish I'd listened..."

She looks down. "I wish I'd told you about my predictions before... It's just, I was sure you and Matty would think I was crazy. And I kept worrying that if I told Mama and Papa, the Institute would take me away and study me."

Heavy worries for a little kid... The two of you sit together in silence, as you wonder what you can say to all this. After a minute, you venture, "Well... at least you haven't predicted anything this time though, right?"

"Oh, sure, that means a whole lot!" she scoffs. "You know how useless my predictions are! I mean, I've never been able to win the lottery for us... and if I'd have known about Baby Kitty maybe I could have stopped her from getting kidnapped and been a hero... and I didn't know I was going to get sick. It'd be stupid for you to assume you're gonna be OK just because I haven't predicted anything! Anyway..." Her expression darkens. "Do you think I need psychic powers to see how incredibly dangerous this situation is for you?"

"I've told you before, he's taking every precaution to keep things secret --"

"That's it exactly! You're saying that to try to make me feel better, but what I'm hearing is that if anyone does find out about you, you're gonna have to skip town before his enemies try to use you to get at him." Her eyes narrow. "What he's paying you, it's hazard pay, isn't it?"

"I knew that when I took the deal," you snap. 

She opens her mouth to reply. Then she shuts it again.

You raise an eyebrow. That's rather unusual restraint for Sasha. You're curious as to what she was going to say, but you're also tired of having this same conversation with her, and it's a relief not to have to continue it.

"You know," she says, her expression brightening, "I actually had a useful prediction this morning. Something wonderful is going to happen tomorrow."

"Oh?" You smile, too. "I like the sound of that. Any idea what?"

"All I got was a warm feeling." She looks somewhat hesitant as she continues "Kind of like, uh... Like we were back together with Mama and Papa and Matty..."

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. "Um... you said this was something wonderful. That sounds more like we're gonna, uh..."

She looks confused for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "No, I didn't predict we're gonna die! It was a good prediction, silly. I felt like everything was going to be okay."

"How could you tell? Maybe once you're dead, your soul really is at peace."

She rolls onto her back, closing her eyes and grinning. "I just know."

"Huh. And you're sure it wasn't just a feeling? You think it's related to something that's actually going to happen and, uh... isn't our impending deaths?"

"Yeah." She glances back out the window. "Uh... dunno what, though. "

You ponder this. "Maybe I'll get my locket back?"

"Maybe..." She lays back and closes her eyes, smiling knowingly.

You'd like to ask her more, but she's always hesitant to talk about how exactly her predictions work. All she's really ever told you is that, to her, it's most often like a wave of inexplicable feeling -- sometimes intense, sometimes barely noticeable or nearly indistinguishable from her usual emotions. Sometimes it seems they're more like visions, or déjà vu, as when she predicted she'd see sunshine before you took her to the surface hospital. Ever since she'd told you about how she'd predicted that something would happen to Louis and Marie, you've trusted her implicitly -- and indeed, she's been right far more often than she's been wrong. Then, once you'd learned about her predictions, it had planted an idea in your mind.

Jerren had a knack for being in the right place in the right time... such good luck that it was nearly a joke among his social circle... an oddly distant, preoccupied air at times... and a way of saying just what it was people wanted to hear. When you'd known him you'd always attributed it to intelligence and perception, but after you'd realized that precognition existed, at least in your sister... you'd wondered if he, too, could see the future.

Before you'd known about Sasha's predictions, you'd never have considered it. Everyone knows, after all, that magic doesn't exist in humans anymore, not since the surface was created. But... as improbable as it is, it would explain rather a lot about him, such as how he was able to show up just in time to tell off that guy for you the other day. 

In that case, though, Jerren could just have easily got wind of the man's plans somehow... or perhaps, if you're going to be extra paranoid, he could have paid him to act out a part. Or perhaps it really could have just been a coincidence. Enough people died in the Open Skies attacks that there's plenty of people who would still have a grudge against your mother, and see you as a reasonable proxy for her.

What about your suspicions that Jerren had some hand in destroying your family? Someone like him could have interfered in several different ways without precognition... but if he could see the future, wouldn't that make it all the easier?

Only if he could see the future really well. But the problem with that theory is that you're basing Jerren's possible abilities on what you know of Sasha's abilities. She doesn't predict things all that often, and what she does predict is more vague than useful; she's spent more time trying to use her ability to win the lottery than is probably good for her, with nothing to show for it. If Jerren does have some ability similar to hers, it's certainly much better.

How much better, you wonder?

What if his ability was so powerful that... for example... he had a vision of you and your sister returning to the surface at some point, and he decided to make plans to work his way back into your life?

Or... 

If he had a vision of you being shot? And, for reasons of his own, decided to change your fate?

A chill goes through your body.

No. That's impossible. That's just your imagination going haywire. There's no way that could be right, because a human with power that infallible, that precise...

Wouldn't they be like a god?

"I really miss them this morning," she whispers, cutting into your thoughts. "I wonder sometimes if they're watching, you know?"

You grimace. The idea might comfort her, but it makes you imagine your parents and brother as a horrified audience as you convinced Muffet you could sleep with monsters, proceeded to sell yourself to a dozen of them, then bound yourself to some sort of skeleton hitman. "Uh... I like to think they're resting in peace." Yes, that's much better, imagining some essence of their souls lingering in that beautiful, serene garden instead of following you around underground. Is it beautiful and serene still? There's a catch in your throat as you imagine it overgrown, abandoned, maybe even vandalized...

The skin around her eyes crinkles in a genuine smile, making her look so much like her old self that you can almost ignore the pustules covering the area. You'll never see your father's face reflected in hers -- Sasha is, technically, your half-sister -- but she really does look a great deal like your mother. "Do you remember when Mama wanted us to sing at that party?"

You hold your hand to your forehead. "Unfortunately, yes," you say, but you're smiling.

"I was seven, so you and Matty would have been, what, sixteen, seventeen?"

"Sixteen." You lean back, shaking your head. "Why he had to choose that night of all nights to try getting drunk..."

"And that was the biggest spider I've ever seen..."

You shudder. "Don't remind me. I don't know which was worse, the spider or the stage fright."

"The stage fright," she says, grinning wickedly. "It was supposed to be your big moment and you were just like --" Sasha mimics your frozen, terrified expression. 

You close your eyes, wincing. "Papa had told me to try to imagine them all in their underwear if I got nervous. So I'm up there, desperately trying to undress twenty people in my head while they're staring at me..."

Sasha snickers. "Makes you sound like a huge pervert."

"It didn't work, though. There I was, convincing myself everyone else was half-dressed, but I still felt completely naked."

"Then when you choked, I was like..." Sasha pitches her voice up into a grating whine. "' _I_ didn't forget the words! I'll sing the solo for you!'" She rolls her eyes. "Talk about Brat of the Year award, right?"

"Nah, you were just trying to help. I _was_ a wreck up there."

"Um. Actually I was totally trying to show you up," Sasha confesses, hiding her face in her hands. 

"You mean all these years I thought you were trying to help me, and...?"

"Yeah, uh, that really wasn't it," she admits. "But I was so jealous of you! Mama spent extra time practicing with you, she wrote that solo just for you, you got that new dress... Then you actually thanked me because you thought I was trying to help! Every time I thought about it, ever since, I thought, my God, I was the worst sister ever!"

"Aw, come on," you say kindly, patting her shoulder. "You just wanted Mama to spend more time with you, right?" Your mother had found her children more interesting when they were no longer children, and seven-year-old Sasha spent more time with her nanny than with her. So where you remember your mother as the woman who imparted her lessons on life and love, delighted in helping to dress and arrange you for social events and trained you in music, Sasha remembers her as an ethereal, distant presence who would cuddle and fuss over her like a little pet when she was having a maternal spell. 

"Why you gotta be so nice about it!" Sasha cries, still hiding her face. "Come on, tell me I was being a brat, I deserve it!"

"You were seven, Sasha. Although... you didn't put that spider there, did you?"

"No, of course not!"

"See, _that_ I wouldn't have forgiven so easily," you say with a grin.

"It was a nasty one... This big, and all legs," she says, making a circle with the fingers on both hands. 

You shudder. "Then Matty went after it with a little too much gusto..."

"And bam! Put his foot clean through the stage," Sasha says with relish.

"Papa might have been an engineer, but God, he was such a bad carpenter," you say, shaking your head.

"Why'd Mama even let him and Matty make a stage?"

"She tried to stop him. She was like, 'Sweetie, you know it'll be a disaster! Anyway, you can pay people to do that kind of thing!'" Sasha giggles as you mimic your mother's affected, musical voice. "Then Papa thought he needed to make a stand about self-reliance and teaching Matty the value of working with his hands..."

"As if Papa could work with his hands," Sasha says, rolling her eyes. 

"Yeah, no kidding. Did I ever tell you about the birdhouse he made me?" She shakes her head, and you continue, "He made it for my sixth birthday. I was so impressed! Until the bottom fell out. By the time I found the nest, the cat had killed all the baby birds."

Sasha laughs until she has a coughing fit. "Oh my God that's horrible!"

"I cried and cried, and Matty and I made little grave markers for the birds. I even left flowers there for months. Years later, Papa told me every time he passed them he felt like a murderer."

"Poor Papa!" Sasha curls up in bed, giggling. "I remember hiding near where they were working on the stage. I loved it, because every time he screwed up I learned some fantastic new words. I'd go try them out on my nanny to see which ones got the biggest reaction."

"Talk about an education," you say, grinning. "I never understood why he thought it was so important to pass on his woodworking skills to his son when he didn't have woodworking skills to begin with."

"Some sort of proving his manliness thing, I guess."

"Yeah, probably. Plus, Mama thought it was silly, and that just made him all the more determined..."

"Huh. Well, he really showed her." Sasha pauses. "The part I always thought was so funny was that Matty missed the spider."

"By a mile! And he didn't realize it, and he was like 'Hah! Take that, you effing spider!'" 

"That's _not_ what he said," Sasha says, dissolving into giggles.

"I know," you say, starting to giggle too. "Here's all these people Mama wanted to impress, gathered in one place, and Matty's just yelled the F-word in front of all of them! She looked like she wanted to smash her guitar over his head. And Papa's trying so hard not to laugh..."

"And Matty's leg is bleeding and he's stuck up to here," Sasha says, indicating a spot just underneath her knee. "He doesn't even notice the spider going off the other way." She wiggles her fingers, imitating the spider scuttling off the stage.

"The whole audience is crying with laughter..."

"Then you go to help him out..."

"And he reaches for my hand, loses his balance and gets my sleeve instead..."

" Ripped it right off! And he knocks you over, too..."

"And we look at each other, and there's this split second where we both know what's coming, and that it's too late to do anything about it..."

"Then blehhhh! All over your dress." Sasha pantomimes someone vomiting.

"First and last time I ever wore it," you say, shaking your head. "White silk, trimmed all over with lace... It was gorgeous."

"Moment of silence for the dress," Sasha says with mock gravity. You both sigh. "But you made that great wedding gown for my doll out of the leftover fabric, so it wasn't a total loss," she adds cheerfully.

"She got a lot more wear out of it than I did," you say, grinning wryly. "Poor Matty... He felt so bad, he didn't stop groveling for weeks... "

"Well, that was a seriously dumb move, getting drunk like that! He deserved to grovel."

"I felt like _I_ deserved to grovel," you say, leaning back in your chair. "Choking on stage like that, then getting so freaked out by a stupid spider... Mama tried to be nice about it, but that just made it more obvious she was disappointed in me. And Papa thought the whole thing was hilarious..."

"Except for the stage."

"Yeah," you say, grinning. "Whenever he started teasing me and Matty about it, we just had to bring up that stage and he'd change the subject immediately." You shake your head. "What a night. I couldn't think about it for ages without cringing."

"It all just seems funny now, though," Sasha observes with a distant smile.

"Yeah, but at the time I fully planned to stay in my room for the rest of my life." After a moment, you continue "You know, it was actually Jerren who made me feel better about it."

"How so?"

"Well, he was there, remember? He made some reference to it a couple of months later, and I was like..." You groan and hide your face in your hands, and Sasha snickers. "But he said that actually, he'd been impressed by how I acted under stress."

"Uh huh. Because completely botching your solo was so impressive."

"Not that. He said, when Matty threw up on me, the only thing I worried about was how to help him. I didn't care that he'd ruined my new dress or that everyone was laughing at us. I just saw that my brother was sick and hurt and needed me."

"Oh... I see. I guess."

"He said he believed you can never know a person's true character unless you see them taken to their limits. Then after Mama was arrested, I thought about that a lot. Like, forget singing at a garden party, I'm _really_ being taken to my limits now." 

What if he knew? If Jerren knew you'd gone so far as to prostitute yourself to monsters out of desperation, would he consider it evidence of some deeply buried streak of depravity, brought to light only by such an extreme situation? Or might he think it noble that you'd been willing to do something most of New Ebott found repulsive, out of love for your sister?

Well, he definitely wouldn't think selling yourself to Sans was noble if he knew how much you were enjoying it. Blood rushes to your cheeks as you remember the previous night. Sasha gives you a funny look, but says nothing.

As you're leaving the hospital that afternoon, you notice the group of hangers-on that follow Jerren everywhere outside the Courtyard. Flustered, you turn to go the other way, but Jerren calls to you. You turn around, and he breaks away from his retinue to approach you, his expression anxious.

"I... uh, I hope you find Sasha well today."

Somehow, you don't feel quite so tense at this meeting as you did last time you ran into him. Look at what a man does, your mother had always told you. It's true that nearly six years ago he betrayed and terrified you... But now he's spending his time volunteering with sick people, he's not only apologized to you but he's openly acknowledged to your sister what an asshole he used to be, and he's shielded the two of you from exposure.

You don't have to believe that this change of heart is real just to talk to the guy. What's he going to do to you like this? You're surrounded by people... all of whom are pretending not to watch the two of you, engaging each other in animated conversation a little too unconvincingly.

"Yes, thank you for your concern," you reply. "Her doctor informed me that she's doing really well with the next stage of the treatment."

Jerren smiles. "Yes, I'd heard they'd started her on that! At this rate, perhaps she'll be released before the end of the year." 

You can't help but smile back. "I sure hope so." 

He looks sheepish as he continues "I wanted to say, I'm sorry for what happened the other day. I put you in a difficult position, however inadvertently."

You shrug. "Well, you also helped Sasha understand how things really were, didn't you? Maybe that was for the best..." That's the closest you can come to saying 'thank you for being honest about what an asshole you were.'

"I understand," he says. "Sometimes the truth means more when it comes from someone unexpected. People are rather suggestible in that way."

"I see you still make a study of human nature..."

"Of course! Human nature is the only subject worth studying."

"And my sister gives you plenty of material, I imagine."

He grins at this. "She's a genuine pleasure to spend time with. There is, of course, the small matter of her wanting to upend every social structure and convention in existence. But she has the most charming way of telling me I'm outdated and parasitical."

You cringe. You can't say you disagree, but you were trained to be a proper lady in a way that your sister was not, and you have an uncomfortable feeling that your sister's outspokenness reflects badly on the job you've done as her substitute mother. "I'm sorry -- that girl just has _no_ tact sometimes! Well, all the time..."

He laughs. "No, no, I wasn't offended. Believe me, I've heard worse. And I've got a soft spot for anyone willing to stab me in the front."

You smile with your mouth in a tight line. Is it just a joke, or a reference to how you'd slapped him the day you'd first met him, yelling that maybe that'd help him understand how those poor monsters felt? "I'm glad you didn't take her too seriously," you murmur. "She likes to try to shock me too, if it's any consolation. 'Why are you making such a big deal about a stupid C? Future gang leaders don't need math. I'll just hire accountants to cook the books for me.'"

Jerren chuckles at your imitation of your sister. "Did you point out how incredibly easy it would be for her crooked accountants to cheat her as well?"

You can't help but smile. "I did, actually. And, you know, she got an A on the next test, so maybe it sunk in."

His voice is warm as he replies "I'm sure it did. She doesn't truly understand how lucky she is to have you looking out for her. You've been doing a wonderful job as her guardian."

The pleasure of having someone notice your hard work and praise you for it is so great that it even outweighs the fact that the praise is coming from... well, him. You look down, feeling equally gratified and awkward. "Is this what you were talking about? The truth coming from someone unexpected?"

"Is it that unexpected? I've been reading to her since she entered the hospital, after all. It's impossible not to notice your influence on her."

"I wonder sometimes," you demur. This conversation seems to have turned rather personal... 

He takes a tentative step toward you. "I've long regretted that I didn't do more for the two of you when you needed it. I have no excuse. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for," you answer reflexively. You don't actually believe that, but you're nothing if not well-trained. "We've done well for ourselves, all in all."

"And don't get me wrong, I admire that. But all the same, I want to do something for you now. I want to be of assistance to you, after... well, after everything."

"I am grateful for the offer, to be sure. But indeed, I need less assistance than you might think. My sister is taken care of, my own needs are few, and I have no desire for charity."

He looks abashed. "No, no, it's not that. I know you wouldn't take charity from me. But I've got something in mind, if you'd consider it..."

What does he think he could give you that you would want? Money? Jewelry? As if you'd accept anything like that. "Please do not trouble yourself," you say, shaking your head.

"If you would like... I could take you and Sasha back to the Courtyard." He pauses. "To visit your family."

There's nothing he could give you that you would want...

...except this. 

Just this.

Your mouth says "I -- I couldn't possibly..."

But your pulse is pounding in your ears.

"It would be the very least I could do for you and Sasha." 

"I can't," you repeat, your mouth suddenly so dry you can barely croak out the words. 

"I would arrange everything. I've got a plan in mind. If we go tomorrow I can give you as much time as you need, without attracting attention."

"I... um... I..."

"I expect you'll wish to have someone accompany us," he says quietly. "Some of the court ladies, perhaps, or your friends."

That is rather sensitive for Jerren. And... so tempting. So goddamn tempting.

You can barely imagine being able to go back where you spent your childhood... where you scattered the ashes of your beloved family. The thought nearly overwhelms you with emotion. Is this what Sasha's prediction had been about? Had she already seen you accepting this invitation? Well, if she'd reported feeling happy, at least she hadn't predicted Jerren kidnapping you in broad daylight...

Snap out of it! Anger surges through you as some rational part of you asserts itself. This is Jerren, you know what he is! You know damn well you should freeze him out, you shouldn't betray any emotion to this man, but something in you rebels, you want him to know _exactly_ what you think of him --

You look directly at him, narrowing your eyes. There's more contempt and venom in your voice than you even knew you could summon as you ask "What would I owe you _this_ time?"

He looks taken aback. "Nothing. Nothing, of course."

"You're telling me you'd give me --" Your heart's desire -- don't say that -- don't let on to him how desperate you are for this! "-- You'd do this favor for me for nothing? We both know that's _not_ how you are!" you hiss.

"I, uh... You have every right to say that to me," he murmurs, not meeting your eyes.

"How dare you -- how _dare_ you offer me _that_!" Tears come to your eyes, and your voice falters. "When you know damn well I... I can't take it..." You're not going to break down in front of him, you won't give him the satisfaction...

"I'm not offering this to you so you'll owe me," he says, looking earnestly at you. "It's because I owe it to you. This is something I should have done long ago."

If you say anything, you're going to cry. And you're _not_ going to do that, you're going to hold on to that anger rather than betray such weakness to him of all people. You stare through him, clenching your teeth and crossing your arms over your chest.

"And I know what your family meant to you, and you and Sasha went through hell, so... well, I want to help you."

"Oh, so _now_ I've suffered enough to be helped? Because I recall suffering plenty. Then you kicked me when I was down!" you snap.

He looks down, ashamed. "I, uh... I know I've made mistakes..."

"Too damn right you have!" You're attracting attention, you're causing a scene, you don't care, you don't care! "You betrayed me, you treated me like garbage! And now you say you want to help me?! Well, you know what, Jerren? You can take your help and _shove it_!"

His shoulders slump and he looks down. Faced with your anger, he seems defeated. 

No... worse than that. He seems heartbroken. 

You glance around. None of the onlookers are even pretending to talk to each other anymore. They stare openly at the two of you, murmuring. You take a step back, your heart pounding.

"I understand. I'm sorry to have troubled you," he says in a soft voice.

Did you go too far? Doubts prick at you like needles on the back of your neck. You're never going to forgive him, and you're damn sure never going to trust him again... but you do have to admit that he's been going over and above to make amends to you. Now he's offered you your heart's desire, only for you to fling it back in his face. The Jerren you knew would have been furious, would have shredded you with his sarcasm. But now he's taking your rebuke meekly, he seems to be accepting your anger as his punishment...

Suddenly, you feel like you've been very cruel. Good, let him know how it feels, some little rebellious part of yourself insists. But you feel all wrong, somehow. For once in his life, this man is truly trying to be good, and all it's got him is your scorn. Was that the right choice? He really does look for all the world like you've broken his heart. Your guts twist with guilt and uncertainty, and people are staring, you don't know what to do, you don't know what to say --

This situation calls for running like a bunny.

You turn and run, pushing past the crowd and making a beeline for the nearest tram. There's one waiting at the stop, and you sprint towards it, hopping on just before the doors close. Damn, you don't even know where this one goes, and you don't care. All you need is for it to take you away.

You curl up in the seat, making yourself very small. 

Shit. 

Did that man really just offer you your heart's desire?

Did you really just turn it down?

Technically, you told him to shove it.

Shit.

You really told Jerren to shove it. You seriously said that. You laugh as you remember the moment, softly at first, then hysterically, heedless of the people around you giving you funny looks. That was perfect! It was straight out of the fantasies you frequently indulged in after you'd gone underground, the ones where you wallowed in anger at someone you fully believed you'd never see again. You always pictured him groveling and repenting, and you laughed in his face, informing him that he was scum, that he disgusted you, that you would never be so stupid as to trust him again, and you would never, never, never let him so much as touch you, no matter what he offered. 

But even in your fantasies, there were limits... 

Even in your fantasies, he'd never offered you _that_. 

For one brief, shining moment what you most long for was within your grasp... and you deliberately destroyed your own chance to fulfill your heart's desire.

What have you done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and the move has been made.
> 
> Can you stand the wait to find out if Reader's resolve sticks? I've been trying to space out my completed chapters so I didn't have to go on hiatus... but I've been busy as hell lately and haven't had much time to really focus on what is proving to be a difficult sequence, so I'm going to have to go on hiatus anyway. One week one way or the other won't change much, so maybe I'll just go ahead and post chapter 23 the weekend of December 15th.
> 
> Just on general principle, thanks to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns) for beta reading for me! She's on hiatus and hasn't actually read this part, and she's so damn good at what she does that posting it without her input makes me nervous, like I've just jumped off a diving board and didn't think to make sure there was water in the swimming pool first. Thanks also to [KenyaKetchup](https://kenyaketchup.tumblr.com) and [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) for looking the chapter over for typos and for swearing at Jerren a bit for me :)
> 
> So yeah, come back next week and we will have chapter 23 and a little pre-hiatus party! In the meantime, you can follow me at <https://neroli9.tumblr.com>.
> 
> Here's the [calendar to chapter 22](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/169554651195/a-puzzle-just-for-me-calendar-to-chapter-22).


	23. be good now (explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just for Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/168583275400/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

The light rail that you've stumbled onto takes you to Arbor University. You've only been to the campus a handful of times, but your father was an alumni. At one point, you'd hoped you'd study here yourself... Great, what you really needed right now was more depressing things to think about. 

You wipe your face and walk past oblivious students and stately brick buildings with your shoulders hunched and your hands in your pockets. Where can a person have a good cry around here? A memory comes to mind, your mom laughing with your father about how they hid in one of the soundproof practice rooms once. Well, she called it 'hiding'... you didn't realize what they were probably doing until you were older. You check the campus map, then head to the school of music.

You find a hall of practice rooms in the basement, some being put to their intended purpose, some -- judging from the efforts made to block the windows on the doors -- being put to the same purpose your parents used them for. You find an empty room, where you sit at the piano bench and rest your head and arms on the lid.

You’re lightheaded and sick to your stomach. A chaotic swirl of thoughts deluges you, clamoring and competing for your attention. 

Jerren can go fuck himself -- he offered to make a miracle happen, something you've wanted so badly for so long -- he's trying, he's really trying -- he betrayed you and for years, you felt so stupid for trusting him -- you miss your family so much it hurts -- you can't owe him anything, you know you can't owe him anything -- he can't actually bring you back, he's bluffing, or it's a scam of some sort -- he actually is the only person in New Ebott who both could and would bring you back -- how can you explain this to Sasha -- you want to see your family's grave, the home you grew up in, just once would be enough -- you can't pay a price like that for it -- Jerren apologized, he truly wants to do better -- Jerren can never atone for how he treated you -- what if he tells Sasha, turns her against you -- it'd be dangerous to go there with him, even with chaperones, even with your sister -- if he wanted to kidnap you he could have done it long before -- what would Sans think if you went to the Courtyard and never came back -- Jerren looked like you'd broken his heart -- that asshole doesn't have a heart -- you can never be alone with him again -- why the hell are you even in this situation now, when you'd made peace with the fact that you'd never see your old home again -- Sasha couldn't go, she's not well enough yet -- you're going to regret saying no all your life, this was your only chance -- it's just a gravesite, it's not like they're actually there waiting for you, they're dead and gone and you're just being silly and sentimental -- you can't believe you actually told him to shove it, that was magnificent, if that was a scene in a movie you'd have cheered for the heroine -- he's never going to offer you something like that again, not after you threw it in his face -- you hurt him, you genuinely hurt him -- part of you feels vicious pleasure that you hurt someone who hurt you, and you don't like how that feels, like your soul is dirty -- he's the one who made you feel that way, it's his fault, it's all his fucking fault -- you've failed your family yet again, you can't even pay your respects at their graves -- he apologized, he's tried to protect you, he's been so kind to Sasha -- it doesn't mean you can trust him, you know you can't -- but can't even the worst person change? -- something in you rather liked talking to him again like you once did, when you were friends -- something darker in you reveled in making a man like that grovel and work for your attention -- groveling too well, the man is too smooth, he almost had you wound around his little finger there just like usual -- you did the right thing -- you did the wrong thing -- you regret nothing -- you regret everything, every god damn thing --

It's just too much to have in your head at once. You burst out in tears, your heart burning with loneliness and grief. That you made the only sensible choice is no consolation at all.

You cry until you're too exhausted to think anymore. Your complex, insistent thoughts gradually reduce down to an abstract feeling of sorrow that fills your head, as if you've removed your brain and replaced it with a pillow. A really sad pillow. The thought makes you smile wryly as you wipe your face with your handkerchief, swallowing your feelings and trying to get yourself under control. You can't break down, not here, not over this...

You told that man exactly what he deserved to hear, you don't regret that -- even if he _did_ look heartbroken -- but the price you paid was letting what you most wanted slip through your fingers. Now your brain, or the pillow you've replaced it with, is telling you you've done the right thing... but your heart and soul drown in anguish. For years, you've yearned for even a scrap of connection with the family you've lost, and now you know beyond any doubt that you'll never have it, not when you yourself threw away your only opportunity. Would it have been _that_ risky to extend Jerren just a little grace? To accept that he's trying to become a better person, to give him a chance?

You already did that, you remind yourself. Didn't go so well.

But it's been nearly six years, and he's been trying so hard... It's just not in your nature to hold a grudge in the face of such penitence and effort. Just look at what had happened with Ionathia and Adaleia. They hadn't known how to handle your grief and fear as you gradually lost your family and faced a precarious future, and they had hesitated to be associated with the family of a woman who everyone believed had wanted to destroy the Courtyard and send them all underground. So just when you'd most needed friends, they'd quietly distanced themselves from you. Yet they'd clearly regretted it, and had gone to some trouble to go see you. You could have clung to your anger, you'd have been within your rights, but you just couldn't do it. Who's to say you would have been any better, had one of them been the exile?

To your surprise, your anger at Jerren is draining away too. He truly has been trying... You let him have it back there, but he reacted with meekness, even grace. Not that you mean to let him off the hook, but you have to admit that it would be surprising if someone that privileged and gifted wasn't a self-centered, entitled jackass at the age of twenty. But it is surprising that he now seems to realize it, and is trying to be a better man. You don't have to forgive him to be just a little impressed by this personal growth... and to wonder if it might not have been all right just to go somewhere with him and your friends for an hour or two...

Sucker, some less forgiving part of your mind flings at you.

Maybe you are a sucker, but what does it matter? He's never going to talk to you again, anyway. He'll probably even stop reading to Sasha, who will be mad at you for turning him down, for denying her this gift...

It was still the right choice, that tiny, stubborn part of your consciousness insists. 

Well, the right choice was _bullshit_. Your weary, lonely soul grieves for what you've lost.

Your soul is just going to have to deal with even more disappointment. Like usual. You take a deep breath, starting to feel a sort of resigned clarity about the situation. You made your choice... in your heart of hearts, you regret it... and there's nothing to be done about it.

You sigh and sit up, then eye the piano you've been crying all over. Well, as long as you're here...

You open it up and play a few scales. It's been too long... Your fingers feel clumsy over the keys. You attempt a couple of songs you could once play well; sadly, muscle memory only takes you so far. You'd love to play some of the sonatas your mother composed, but you barely remember any of them well enough to even start. You play the first few notes of the one you remember best, growling with frustration. She'd been an accomplished composer, pouring her heart into her compositions, and had even been working on an opera in the last years of her life. Now her daughter can't even play the sonatas she'd been so proud of...

You revert to the simpler melodies she'd created for her children. She'd sung them to you when she was feeling particularly maternal, and the thing that pleased her the most was when you learned them and sung them back. Those stick much more strongly in your mind and seem to have been stored in your fingers, and you relax as you go through the ones you can remember. You attempt to sing some of them, although your usually decent singing voice feels rough and strained after so much yelling and crying. This improves your mood somewhat, but you're still gloomy and lonely by the time you shut the piano back up and head back out. You suppose you'd better get back underground... It barely seems to matter where you are or where you'll go next, and you feel draggy and disconsolate, but if you just go through the motions, maybe things will look better in the morning... or maybe in a month... or maybe sometime next year.

The light rail leaves as you're walking towards the stop, and the next one won't be here for another fifteen minutes. You sit by the nearby fountain as students pass by, watching water pour out of the gargoyles' mouths, trying to give a bit of a rest to the sad pillow filling your skull.

Someone sits near you, and you glance over at them. Then you look down at your feet, your throat feeling tight with embarrassment.

"Offer still stands," Jerren says quietly.

Another round of tears well up in your eyes. "You, uh... you can't mean it..."

"I mean it."

"After... what I said?"

He shrugs. "I deserved it."

"You sure did," you mumble, but there's no anger behind it.

He smiles wryly in return. "Now we're agreed on that... would you think it over?"

You lean over and rest your arms on your legs, sighing. "I told you I can't accept it," you say, but your voice wavers.

"We were friends once..."

"That was a long time ago."

"I know, but... I can't change the past," he says, his voice gentle. "All I can do now is try to do what's right. I could certainly use the practice." This gets a grudging chuckle out of you, which seems to encourage him. "And somehow I kept thinking that this feels like the right thing to do. Though, well..." He looks grave as he continues "I am at fault for not realizing how deeply the offer would affect you. You must miss them so..."

You start to choke up all over again, swallowing hard and looking away. To say you miss them is such an understatement it approaches an insult. Your grief feels like a simmering pit of tar in your soul that constantly threatens to boil over and engulf you, and perhaps the whole world along with you. But you can't cry, not in front of him, not in front of anyone. With some difficulty you bring yourself back under control, rubbing your eyes with your handkerchief and smothering the feelings that even the good cry in the practice room didn't truly release. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he's looking away too, politely pretending not to notice.

"I'm sorry," he says once you've calmed down. "I was so excited that I jumped the gun. I should have known you'd be angry with me. It's just that tomorrow is the best chance we might get and... well, I thought it might make you happy..."

"It'd make me happier than anything," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

"Then will you let me take you?"

Will you? You swallow hard, not able to meet his eye. "Uh... there must be a catch..."

He smiles wryly. "I guess the catch is that I'd have to go with you and Sasha. I, uh... I'd give you space, though. Of course. And I assume you'd want your friends to accompany you."

"Ionathia and Adaleia? They, uh... they might be busy..."

His grin is playful as he answers "Well, I suppose I can't guarantee they have nothing better to do than tag along with us. If they aren't available, I can make alternate arrangements. But I'd be surprised if I can't persuade them."

You find the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. "I'd be surprised, too." Then your face falls again. "Sasha couldn't possibly leave the hospital... She's still so weak."

"You brought her safely from the underground all the way up here," Jerren points out. "And her health has improved since then. I'll do everything possible to ensure her comfort and safety. We won't tax the poor girl... We'll just bring her on a ride." 

"Be serious, Jerren. Not even you can bring a whitepox patient into the Courtyard."

"Now she's started the next phase of the treatment, there's no chance of her being contagious. There's no harm in asking if the doctors will clear her for an outing, and I'll handle everything on my end. As long as you don't think it would be too upsetting for her?"

"No, no... I think she'd be happy..."

"I do too. She's a stoic young woman. But I can tell that being on the surface reminds her of the past, and it weighs on her. I like to think it would ease her mind to make this visit."

"I... suppose it might..." You consider other obstacles. Is it because you're looking for excuses not to take his offer? Or are you hoping he'll keep talking you out of your concerns? "I, uh... It'll never work." You grimace. "They'd never let us in. Not after everything that happened."

He gestures dismissively. "You'll be _my_ guests. You have nothing to worry about." He looks at you with sympathy. "I know the idea of returning to the Courtyard must bring up bad memories. But no one will harass you when you're under my protection."

"Stefanson swore no member of my family would ever set foot in the Courtyard again."

"Stefanson will cope," Jerren says with a shrug. "Would it ease your mind if I said you wouldn't even see him?"

"How can you be so sure?"

Jerren considers this before answering. "Well, he's hardly become less rigid with age. He keeps a very strict schedule, and treats his duties with the utmost seriousness. So his movements are predictable, especially if he's presented with some sort of... official assignment."

"With busywork," you say, raising an eyebrow.

"Precisely. And he himself might be a paragon of integrity... but the people who report to him are only human, and not very difficult to bribe," he says with a conspiratorial grin. Despite yourself, you grin too. "You'll be gone before he even hears you've been there. I promise."

You weigh your options. Now that you're drained of your anger, now that you've tasted the bitterness of knowing you'd thrown away your chance for good, you find yourself tempted by this offer. It's Jerren, yes, but it'd just be an hour or two... If Sasha and your friends are right there with you... if Jerren can really shield you from harassment and the short-tempered, vindictive head of Courtyard security... and if he really has changed...

The last time you were alone with this man, that stubborn little part of your consciousness reminds you, he got so furious and aggressive that you were dead sure he was about to rape you. Even if you brought a hundred chaperones, you would still be putting yourself at his mercy if you accepted this offer. Doing the right thing can't possibly be his only motive... What if you go behind that wall with him and never come back out? 

You're being unfair to him, another side of you argues. It's been nearly six years... you've changed in that time, and you have proof that he has, too. Sasha is right... you've never found the slightest evidence or indication that he had anything to do with what happened to your family, and it is paranoid as hell to think that he was involved in some sort of long-term revenge plot against you just because you caused a scene at his birthday party. He's apologized, his actions towards you and your sister this month have been nothing but thoughtful... and he's offered you your heart's desire not once but twice, after swallowing your insults. He's downplaying the difficulties, but even he's going to have to twist some arms to bring the two of you back from exile... What further proof of reformation would you need before you could be satisfied? 

Can even the worst person change? No, not him, part of you insists. But you also find yourself inclining towards... not exactly giving him a chance, but perhaps allowing him to try to prove that he deserves another chance. Accepting this offer would be a risk, no doubt about it. But your heart is so damn tired of being sensible, of constant caution. You're consumed by grief for your family... you want to honor them like they deserve... you want to visit your childhood home, just one more time... 

You take a deep breath and pray that you don't regret this.

"I guess it would be all right..."

Jerren's eyes light up. "Thank you!"

He makes it sound as if you're the one doing him the favor. You're starting to think that Sasha is right, that he really does have some sort of lingering affection for you. That's just a little more flattering than you'd anticipated... The thought unsettles you.

"Sasha, your friends and I will all meet you at the terminal tomorrow, then. As early as possible, I should think, so as to attract less attention. Would six be too early?"

You laugh despite yourself. "So not only are you a reformed man, you've become a morning person too?"

"That would be a little too much to hope for," he answers, grinning. "You're right that it isn't my normal routine. But if we start that early, things will go more smoothly. Is that all right with you?"

"I, uh..." 

This is your last chance to back out. But you already know you won't. You've dreamed of this for so long, and you thought it would never happen. Is it really worth taking this chance? Some part of you is screaming no, no, no... and yet...

"I appreciate this, Jerren..."

He shakes his head. "I just... well. We _were_ friends once." He stands up and bows. "Until tomorrow."

You consider this turn of events all the way back underground. Despite everything, part of you is still thinking... come on, how can you possibly think this is a good idea? You're being so naive, thinking he won't do anything to you with other people around... Don't you remember who he really is?

You sigh. As Sasha would no doubt remind you, this isn't the only risk you've taken lately. And even though you're still feeling trepidation at the idea of accompanying Jerren anywhere, it's balanced by envisioning yourself in that quiet part of the garden that holds so many memories for you. How Jerren intends to pull all this off is beyond you, but the biggest obstacle was probably getting you to agree.

You've spent longer on the surface than usual, so you decide to go straight to the shared apartment to work on your maze. When you get there, you check the notebook, and are delighted to find a message for you.

\- i may or may not be able to join you today. if i can't make it, i'll try to at least pop by and give you a kiss. still, gives you time to fix up that puzzle.

That it does, you think. In hopes that that you'll look a little less pathetic than you did the other day after an equivalent amount of crying, you fix up your makeup. Next, you throw together an early dinner -- canned soup and toast, and you barely taste it -- then get back to work on your maze. Drawing helps you focus, and you relax as you work. Whenever you think about tomorrow you feel equally exhilarated and anxious, but drawing helps you silence your mind. 

The actual maze part is just about done, so you spend the next few hours decorating it with a monster motif -- a dark background dotted with tiny lights like you'd find in the districts, a circle of echo flowers surrounding the exit to the maze and a different monster curled around each of the five letters. You regard your work with pride. Beautiful and frustrating... just the effect you're going for. 

You carefully tear the maze out of your sketchbook and write on the back:

\- The correct letter will bring you to the echo flowers. And no fair starting from the end!

Right as you finish writing, the fridge door opens and Sans strolls out, shuddering in an exaggerated way. "brrrr." Caught by surprise, you laugh. Of course, he shortcut right behind the fridge instead of inside it, but the sight gag is hilarious all the same. "knock knock," he says, grinning at you. 

You giggle all the more, hiding the maze under the notebook, then leaning back in your chair and beaming at him. "Who's there?"

"radio." 

"Radio who?"

"radio not, here i come," he says, leaning over you and giving you a kiss. "only got about a half hour, though."

You stand up and throw your arms around him. "Then let's make the most of them!"

He looks up at you, grinning, then hugs you to him and feels up your ass. With his head pressed up against your chest, you can't see that his brow ridges are furrowed.

* _i'm not sure what to make of her expression and body language. that's a first._

* _she's been crying again, and there's unusual tension all through her body. but she's upbeat, her smile is genuine. she's happy to see me, which is throwing me off, but she's so bad at faking cheerfulness that i suspect she was in a fairly good mood even before i got here._

* _so there's a mismatch between the physical signals of distress and her mood, which actually seems a little less reserved, a little more excitable than usual. all together it might read as... expectant? maybe. or like she's solved some problem? maybe._

* _is she expecting something from me? she finished the puzzle, wants me to work on it?_

* _no, that doesn't account for the crying... whatever caused this reaction in her is more momentous than that. i think it's likely it doesn't have anything to do with me._

* _which means that it's really not my business._

"As much fun as it must be to grope your human," you say with an arch smile, "you're wasting time."

"got an activity in mind?" he asks, his voice dark. 

Just even being asked that question turns you on, but you've got a different plan. "I finished the first puzzle!"

"did'ja now? well, then," he says, patting your butt before releasing you and heading to the closet to take off his jacket and holster. 

* _seems like a safe bet that whatever caused her current state of mind is related to whatever happened three days ago._

* _assuming i'm right, and she's paying for someone's medical care... perhaps a sudden downturn, but now it looks like they're going to pull through?_

* _no -- not my business, remember?_

"wait, the 'first' puzzle? how many ya gonna make me do?" he grumbles from behind the door.

"You get one letter of my name for each puzzle you complete. And there are five letters in my name."

"gotcha," he says, coming back over and sitting down at the table.

* _maybe she's been arguing with a friend, or a family member. or..._

* _i don't think she's keeping a secret boyfriend from me, but maybe someone she has feelings for?_

* _funny how much that idea annoys me._

* _anyway, maybe today they made up?_

* _...come on, sans. not your business._

"Now close your eyes," you trill. When he's complied, you take the maze out from under the notebook and set it in front of him. "You can look now!"

He stares down at it, his eyes widening. "uh... you made this?"

"Do you like it?"

"do i... shit, kid," he says, grinning widely as he inspects the front of the page, then the back. "it's incredible. you, uh... you seriously made this?"

"I'm really quite an artist, you know," you answer, trailing your fingers down his spine. And you really wanted to challenge him... and you really wanted to impress him... and it's all you can do to keep from jumping up and down because it seems to have worked.

"sure, but... damn. this is too good to mess up, gimme a second." He vanishes... and you take a moment to jump up and down, beaming with delight. He likes it! He really likes it! And he'd rather do your puzzle than make you give him a quick blowjob!

He returns with a pad of tracing paper and a pencil. "there," he says, sitting back down. "now let's see here..."

He tears out a sheet of tracing paper and lays it over the maze, then picks up the pencil and touches the tip to the end of the maze. "Hey!" you yelp. "You're not supposed to do it like _that_."

"says who?"

"Says me! Look! It's against the rules!" you protest, sliding the maze out from underneath the tracing paper, flipping it over and pointing to the rules.

He takes the maze and studies the back. "not seeing it."

"I wrote _right there_ \--"

"--that it's no fair going from the end. i agree, it's not fair. but that's not the same as prohibited."

"I meant it was prohibited and you know it!"

"hmm. well, since you claim that was your meaning, i can accept that it's against the rules."

"Good!"

"thing is, in the bigger picture, the rules have to be weighed against one very important factor."

"Which is?"

"i want to solve the puzzle," he says with a grin. He puts the maze back down, places the tracing paper back over it and picks up the pencil.

You squeal and reach for the pencil. "You're a dirty cheat, Sans!"

He holds the pencil out of your reach, and you grab for it, growling. He chuckles. "c'mon, ya don't want to mess up your pretty drawing do you?"

"I spent a long time trying to make it challenging and I am _not_ gonna let you --" You reach for the maze and the pencil, and he grabs your wrists, letting the pencil fall to the ground.

"sweetheart, i thought i told ya already, i don't play fair," he growls, standing up. "and i don't intend to start today. so if i gotta keep you quiet while i finish this maze..." He slams you against the wall, your wrists pinned to the wall at your sides and his body pressed hard against yours. You whimper as your underwear slides down off your hips and falls to the floor. He must have done that with his magic, you realize, given that his hands are occupied with keeping your wrists in place. 

You wriggle your wrists to no avail -- his hold on you is too strong. "Wait just a damn minute!"

"what? did i miss a rule about distracting the puzzle creator?"

"You would have ignored it if I'd written it!"

"well, yeah."

He presses his knee between your legs, parting them, and his magic flows over your thighs and into your vulva, filling you up and rubbing your clit. You're already wet -- you were wet just from him feeling you up earlier -- and your legs go so weak that if he stopped pressing your body into the wall, you'd probably slide right down to the floor.

"You -- you really are a dirty cheat!" you groan, squirming against the wall. This is not fair, he's going to do the maze all wrong, and you're starting not to care, he's too distracting... You try to grind up against him in a bid to turn him on too, to throw him as off balance as he's doing to you, but he continues to tease you as if he doesn't even notice your efforts. You feel his magic slide underneath your dress, then your bra. It caresses your nipples as expertly as it's currently stimulating your clit. 

"shhh. just come for me. i don't have long, remember?" he growls, licking your neck and collarbone as his magic relentlessly manipulates your body. 

"This is so unfair!"

"oh, kid, i haven't even STARTED being unfair. but if you insist..." He lets go of your wrists, but his body still keeps yours in place. You squirm ineffectually as he brings his hands up to your face, caressing your jaw line. When one hand settles lightly over your neck, you gasp. This makes him chuckle, the sound dry and cruel. "bet you'd been wondering if i noticed the reaction this got out of you the other day."

"Master," you gasp. You're weak all over, and you look at him wide-eyed, your submissive soul equally thrilled and terrified.

He growls and slides his thumb over your throat. His hand is only resting on your neck; although it makes you feel uniquely vulnerable, your air supply is undisturbed. You breathe deeply, reassuring yourself you still can. "good girl. ya remembered this time." He stands on his tiptoes and holds the back of your head in his other hand. He pushes your head down, bringing his mouth a little closer to your ear. "i was wondering what it'd take to get a stupid bitch like you to remember to call me master. now i know." You swallow and squeeze your eyes shut, everything in you focused on his hand at your throat. "you want me to go further, don't you?"

You nod, whimpering. He chuckles, again with that same sadistic edge. "then say it, girl. ask me to choke you."

"Please, master," you whisper. 

He raises an eyebrow. "did i say ask? i meant BEG."

You press your body against his. "Oh God, master, please, I need more, _please_ \--"

"better."

He brings his other hand to your neck as well, his pelvis and ribcage pressing painfully into your flesh. The palms of his hands lay lightly on your collarbones, and his fingers skim over your skin as if you're wearing a choker. He's not actually impeding your breathing at all, but you know it would be so easy, that you're at his mercy... 

He pushes down ever so slightly, and you close your eyes, your body tense. You feel the pressure on your neck, and you take a deep breath, reassuring yourself you still can even as he pushes down harder. The magic surrounding your body intensifies, and it fills your cunt and slides over your clit and breasts, making you squirm underneath his hands. He presses down just until you start to gasp. It's frightening and sexy both at once, and you open your eyes, looking at him.

"god. look at you. the expression in your eyes... you look so desperate." He studies your face as his fingers press into your throat and you breathe shallowly. His smile widens, making him look more cruel and arrogant than you've ever seen him. "this is right where you belong, isn't it? you're LUCKY to be a monster's whore."

Too aroused and frightened to even speak, you can only nod. It's as if you're offering yourself to Sans as a sacrifice; the thrill of being mastered in this intimate, dangerous way consumes you, and all your soul knows is the dark pleasure of complete submission.

He stands on his tiptoes again to whisper to you. "this is as far as i'm ever gonna go with ya, sweetheart... you humans are too fucking delicate to play with any harder than this. and anyway, you don't really need me to go further. all YOU really want is to know i could." His grin widens. "and believe me, i could." He lets this sink in before he releases your neck.

You breathe deeply, flooded with relief and unbearably aroused. Your body feels limp as Sans presses it against the wall. "Thank you, master," you gasp.

He holds your chin in his hand, looking up at you. "tell me how you feel."

"Uh... scared," you squeak. "But happy..." 

The intensity of the moment robs you of eloquence, but your response makes him smile. "perfect. what a good little human you are," he says, caressing your cheek. You breathe deeply, then exhale, your body feeling light with relief and pleasure. "god, you're so much fun. now, time to finish the job..."

He pins you to the wall by your shoulders, letting his magic do the work of stimulating your nipples and vulva. He licks your collarbone and neck, making deep, animalistic growling noises as his tongue slides over the area where the pressure of his fingers still lingers. You feel tension rising in your body as he works you over so shamelessly. Your brain shuts down, you can't resist him, you can't stop the bliss in your body as his tongue teases you and his hands restrain you and his magic brings you to the brink of orgasm as expertly as if it was your own fingers. You let yourself go, giving yourself over to Sans, forgetting everything but that he's your master and you’re his girl --

You gasp and cry out as the tension within you bursts. It fills you with a wave of energy that quickly passes, leaving your body drained and your mind blank. The muscles in your legs stiffen, then become so weak you can't stand anymore. You whimper as Sans lets you slide slowly down to the floor. He leans over you and pats your head as your body jerks. "good girl. this'll just take me a few minutes." 

Oh yeah... he got you off so he could cheat his way through your puzzle. And it worked. You roll onto your tummy, hiding your face. "You sadistic monster," you mumble into the carpet before another surge of sensation radiates from your vulva all through the rest of your body, making you moan and squirm on the floor. 

You hear him chuckling over from the table. "oh, so first i'm sadistic when i don't let you come, then i'm sadistic when i do? make up your mind."

"You know what I mean! Treating me like I'm some sort of -- some sort of windup toy, or something. It's degrading." But although you inject wounded pride into your voice, you can't help but smile so much your cheeks hurt. He set this up to get serviced by a human woman on demand... and he's literally just got you off so he can cheat on a puzzle you made him without interference. 

"you like degrading."

"You don't have to rub it in!" you wail into the carpet with playful annoyance.

"have it your way. i got something else you can rub --" You interrupt him with a loud, exaggerated groan, and he chuckles. "shhhh. i can't concentrate." You turn your head to glower at him, and he glances over at you, a shit-eating grin on his face. "did'ja want me to gag you too? 'cause i would be more than happy to gag you." 

You groan. "You know damn well I would. Just not right now."

"i'll remember that," he answers, chuckling. "now, when you're feeling up to it, grab me some of those chips. but no hurry, i know i did a number on ya."

"You... are goddamn... _insufferable_ sometimes," you mumble into the carpet.

"what was that, sweetheart?"

"Yes, master."

You stand up, put your underwear back on, brush yourself off then go over to the kitchen. You walk with exaggerated sensuality, swaying your hips, but when you glance back at him, he hasn't even noticed. Hmph. You fix a bowl of chips and put it on the table, then rest your hands on his shoulder blades and look over his shoulder. When this doesn't get the desired reaction, you drape yourself over him, pressing your chest against his back and linking your arms around his neck.

He holds your hands over his sternum. "ya think i can concentrate with your tits pressed up on me like that?"

"Just increasing the difficulty a little."

He chuckles. "you watch out, ya little minx. you're gonna get it, next time." He studies the maze. 

"How can you even think about that puzzle? You must be so turned on," you say teasingly.

"you have no idea how horny i am right now," he growls. "but if i fuck you instead of finishing the maze, it'd ruin the entire joke." He glances up at you, grinning. "you have to admit that was funny as hell."

"It was," you confess, giggling. "But you realize I'm going to make the rest of the puzzles even harder."

"do your worst." He traces his finger over one of the paths.

"You're a lefty," you say, smiling. "Me too."

"i guessed." 

"Lucky guess?"

"yeah." He pauses. "actually, 'cause of how the side of your hand smudges the notebook."

He explained one of his deductions? Today _is_ a big day, you think with a grin. You kiss the top of his skull, and he pats your hand. 

* _this feels pretty damn... cozy._

* _this all started because i was consumed by the desire to fuck her again, and because i couldn't concentrate on a damn thing when i pictured her stuck in bed with dozens of other monsters, suffering through their fumbling attempts at human-style sex._

* _but now i made her a puzzle, she made me a puzzle..._

* _how long has it been since anyone made a puzzle just for me?_

* _i know perfectly well that i'm using her to act out a role for me, that all she truly wants from me is my money, that this is all an elaborate, fleeting fantasy._

* _but she's still a comfort to my soul in this miserable timeline._

It doesn't take him long to finish; he gestures to the tracing paper over the maze, where he's drawn a line from the end to the correct letter. "there you go. got my letter." He circles it. Then he takes the notebook, flips to the back cover, draws five boxes and writes the letter in one of them, leaving the other four empty. 

"Congratulations, even if you did take the easy way out," you say, kissing his cheekbone. "Uh, did you enjoy it?"

He smiles. It's that genuine, happy smile you were so pleased to see yesterday. "of course i did. any monster woulda felt lucky to get a puzzle like that."

You smile back, your heart light. "Thank you!"

"thank YOU, kid," he replies. "so your name starts with --"

You cut him off. "It _might_ start with that letter. I'm not giving them to you in order."

He stands up and grins at you. "devious little human."

"Like you're one to talk."

"true enough." He winks. "welp, i'm afraid i gotta run."

"You can't be just a tiny bit late?" you ask in your most seductive voice, walking your fingers down his sternum.

He shakes his head. "as much as i wanna say yes... it's one thing to blow off some humans for dinner, but agreeing to do a job, that's different."

"Yeah, I can understand that," you say, not meaning it in the least. You can accept that the job takes precedence over the mistress, but you don't have to like it.

"so you can head on home now if you like, i won't be back tonight."

"I might just stay here," you say. It's closer to the shuttle... and you have an early start tomorrow.

"suit yourself." He goes back to the closet, then returns, wearing his coat and hat. He faces you and takes your chin in his hand. "won't see you 'til monday, so..." He kisses you, breathing deeply as he pulls away with evident reluctance. "be good now." 

Does letting the charming, possibly dangerous prince of New Ebott whisk you into a hidden paradise count as being good? It counts as being incredibly stupid, that stubborn little voice in your head insists. You smile weakly. "Uh, I'll try." You pause, wondering if you should say anything else... or, indeed, what you could even say. Don't bother looking for you if you disappear? 

Sans raises an eyebrow. "something on your mind?"

You start. "No -- no, it's nothing."

He raises both eyebrows.

* _the hell it's nothing. that was desperate worry that crossed her face. it's another mismatch between the unusually upbeat mood and whatever secret fear gnaws at her soul. but she's not saying what's wrong, and her reaction indicates that i shouldn't have asked._

* _she poured her soul into that puzzle, she does genuinely like me, but when it comes right down to it..._

* _what i am to her is the creep who's buying her._

"well, wish me luck then."

"Good luck, Sans," you say, leaning forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"thanks," he says, winking at you before he vanishes.

You fall backwards onto the couch, laughing. That man seriously just got you off so he could finish your puzzle without interference. And even just thinking of his hand on your throat thrills you... and he said any monster would be lucky to get a puzzle like the one you made... 

That half hour with him was the highlight of your whole day. But now it's over, your mind wanders back to what's going to happen tomorrow.

It still feels unreal to imagine going back to the Courtyard. And you have so little time to prepare... If you go all the way back downtown, you could probably buy some decent flowers, but not only would that really cut into your budget for the month, even those expensive flowers could never compare to any flowers from the surface. But you could certainly leave something else at their graves... You open your sketchbook and start sketching out two faces. Once you're done, you start a second drawing, then a third. By the time you've finished all three, you're tired enough that you fall asleep quickly, without too many nervous thoughts about what the next day will bring.

\------

Sans returns to the apartment around 4:30 AM, his posture dejected. He perks up when he sees your figure in the bed.

He teleports into the bedroom, pulls out the vanity chair and turns it around, leaning against the back of the chair and rubbing his forehead as he looks at you.

* _this is a hell of a coping strategy. get myself worked up by studying the anomaly's patterns of resetting, then come back here and soothe myself by creeping on my human._

* _it works, though. she looks so peaceful... whatever it was that drove her to sell her body to monsters, whatever upset her the other day, whatever came to mind when i told her to be good... right now she's beyond it all._

* _here in my bed, protected by my magic, she's completely safe._

* _if she knew how much time she and the rest of the world had lost this week..._

* _well, she doesn't._

* _yesterday was another big day for the anomaly. what game is it playing, this iteration of the timeline? did it ruin another life yesterday, as it ruined mine nearly six years ago? was i seeing the traces of whatever plan it executed, whatever it's been working up to all this month? or is that yet to come?_

* _what motivates a being like that? what outcome is it hoping for?_

* _is there anything i can possibly do, anything i can possibly say to change its mind, to get it to stop using its powers?_

* _knowing that there's not, why do i keep monitoring its movements?_

* _i keep thinking of the past sanses who've presumably talked to it. what does it feel like to encounter a god? what could i read in its face? what did it share with me?_

* _and what did i do to make it hate me so much?_

* _if, as i suspect, the anomaly is human or presents as human, then i hypothesize that in person, it would be indistinguishable from a psychopath._

* _unlike the usual sort of psychopath, who only believes that his actions have no consequences, it undoubtedly knows that to be a fact._

* _its attack on district one indicates that it had pulled off similar attacks before, revealing a possible desire for stimulation -- and a taste, perhaps, for control over life and death._

* _its ability to turn back time in very precise ways must allow it near total mastery over others. after all, it would always be able to produce a desired emotional reaction, to convince others of some truth, or otherwise achieve a desired outcome._

* _so if i extrapolate from this list of characteristics, i can hypothesize that like most psychopaths, the anomaly might present as charming. all the more so, most likely, because of its ability to gather information about its target and erase any false moves._

* _what must it be like to be the focus of the anomaly's attention? it's a fearsome thought. if it wants something from another person, it could probably be irresistibly charming and attentive, using both its thousands of years of life experience and its ability to test others' reactions with its powers to guide them to a desired result. if it has no further use for them, the shower of attention might end abruptly, leaving its target bewildered and hurt. and if it's angry..._

* _the anomaly killed over two hundred monsters, then ended the slaughter with my brother. but it didn't exhibit the slightest anger the whole time._

* _how much more terrible it might be when truly angered doesn't bear thinking about._

* _is that what led to the fight between us in the last timeline? something set it off, and it responded with mass slaughter? or was it just bored and searching for stimulation?_

* _i'll probably never know. i just know one thing..._

* _whatever game it's playing now, i feel sorry for its target. because this is an entity that knows how to hurt._

Sans slumps over the chair in a posture of complete defeat. 

* _after all, absolute power corrupts. i should know. without papyrus to remind me of who i want to be, i've fallen so far._

* _this timeline is hell... the reset can't come soon enough._

His expression softens as he looks at you.

* _but somehow it all feels less consuming when i'm with her._

* _i still feel thrilled she's making me puzzles. sure, it's essentially part of her job, but still..._

* _of course, doing that maze earlier today meant that i didn't have time to fuck her properly. and it's damn near unbearable, seeing her like this._

* _asleep in my bed, trusting and vulnerable, ready to be rolled onto her back and her legs spread..._

* _she seems so soft like this, her defenses down. at her most alert she'd never be able to fight me off, if i chose to force myself on her. but when she's like this, it would be obscenely easy. i could settle my magic on her skin like a blanket without even waking her up, feeling her softness and warmth all through my soul... then hold down her hips and force my cock inside her tight little cunt before she was fully conscious of my presence._

* _i can envision her confused, disoriented, slowly coming to realize that it's me on top of her, that i've taken her without her consent and now all she can do is hold on to me and let me use her like my own sex slave..._

* _i imagine her flesh under my fingers... her hair twining between my phalanges... the tiny, pathetic whimpers she would make as i fucked her. my bones pressed against her, crushing her underneath me as i take what i want. my magic filling her, marking her as my human, my whore, my possession._

* _in this fantasy, i guess she doesn't mind... because when i'm done i put my arm around her and she falls back asleep, her cheek pressed up against my ribcage._

* _my fantasies are getting damned sappy lately._

* _well, in any case, that's all it'll remain for tonight... this all only works because i have her trust, i'm not risking that._

* _but... just her hair?_

* _she's fast asleep..._

* _she'd never even feel it..._

* _just a... tiny... touch..._

He reaches toward a lock of your hair. The tip of his finger hovers a quarter of an inch above it as he holds his breath.

Your alarm goes off.

He vanishes before you open your eyes.

Sans reappears on his mattress and takes a deep breath, then laughs, holding the back of his hand to his head.

* _welp, that'll teach me. does she always wake up so damn early?_

* _she must have big plans for her day off._

* _wonder if she'll enjoy it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy. Who's ready for a hiatus?!
> 
> In [Chapter 7](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6776461/chapters/19213078), I had an [exchange of comments with Pyreo](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/80237110) about Reader's temperament, and how she tries to be mature and cautious. Unlike Sasha, who would spend the night in a haunted house just because it's there, Reader actively tries to stay out of trouble. Having established this about her nature, perhaps I find it just a little too amusing to bring her into a situation where all of my readers - who may have connected a couple of dots that Reader doesn't know about - are now screaming WOAH DO NOT. 
> 
> In every second-person fanfic I read, there comes a time where the protagonist takes an action I personally would never do under any circumstances. This often happens in chapter 1. I consider the whole second-person reader-insert thing to be like pretending I'm an actor in a play, so it doesn't bother me to inhabit the head of any number of Readers, even if they’re nothing like me or make choices I would never make. (Multi-orgasmic? Murdery? Male? Sure, whatever, bring'em on.) In return, I give you my introverted, cautious, gentle Reader with a dry sense of humor, heaps of anxieties and a sentimental streak. And although you, my readers, did not actually experience her particular childhood and trauma, I hope you've tasted enough of both to understand why she's made this choice. Yes, it flies in the face of her better judgment, but you've inhabited the head of my sentimental, stressed-out Reader for several chapters now... If you were her, would you truly be able to turn down this chance? 
> 
> Now, about that hiatus.
> 
> I wrote chapters and chapters of APJFM before publishing chapter 1. After meeting peonylanterns and starting to work with her, I significantly revised what I had. Then before chapter 6, because I like to make my life difficult, I decided to change everything about the first section that has to do with Reader’s life outside of her time with Sans. Without going into too much detail about what was changed, I'll just say that in the original version she did not go back to the Courtyard. So there you have it: this huge unwritten chunk I keep alluding to is Reader's visit back to her old home. When I started writing mobtale smut I did not anticipate getting into this kind of psychological territory, and it requires concentration and time to write... but I don't have a lot of time these days. I've got two kids, one of whom is not yet a year old. When I do have time to really focus on something, it often needs to be my work or the CBT exercises I do to manage my depression. And although I’ve made significant progress on the Courtyard sequence— I know how it goes, and I’ve written over 10,000 words of it already— it is a long, emotionally charged sequence. So the upshot is that this is going to take time. The good news is that the changes I’ve made to Reader’s side of the story impact the scenes with Reader and Sans, but don't derail them. Once the Courtyard sequence is over, things will go quickly... until the next hiatus, but that's many chapters away.
> 
> I will post updates to [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com). I'd like to think that I'll have something to post in spring of 2018. 
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns): if I had never started working with her, the version of APJFM you'd have read would have been fun, sure, but nowhere near as intense, satisfying or coherent. This story means a lot to me -- it was the first time in my life I took off some sort of muzzle on my brain and just let myself write with no self-consciousness or shame, it taught me what my strengths as a writer are and let me practice creating a story, it showed me the joy of working with a creative partner I trust and respect, it made me realize just how much I love that feeling of having an audience enthralled by the twists and turns, and, uh... aspects of my life were pretty lousy after kid #1, but writing pure wish fulfillment helped me give words to my desires and talk about what I wanted, and now things have greatly improved. (If you are all very very lucky maybe some day I will post some excerpts of the notes I take after a particularly good session in bed.) So I am grateful for all her help making it into something I've loved working on and am proud of. Thanks also to [KenyaKetchup](http://kenyaketchup.tumblr.com) and [plsdontkinkshameme](http://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) for reading over the chapter and giving me feedback and proofreading! You are all amazing and I'm lucky to have your help <3


	24. we're both idiots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/170870047985/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

Morning comes eventually, and you prepare mechanically for your visit to the Courtyard. You're filled with anxiety as you make your way to the surface. What if this is all some sort of horrible prank? Jerren might think it's funny, or a good revenge for your insolence, to get your hopes up then dash them. What if he really does intend to kidnap you, or hurt you somehow? What if you come face to face with Stefanson, the man who gave the order for your mother's execution? What if it's all too much for Sasha, and she suffers some sort of relapse? What if your home is unrecognizable, the gardens you spent your childhood in destroyed? What if you're hounded out of the Courtyard by a mob of people with a grudge against your mother? Something is going to go wrong, it's bound to end badly...

As you arrive at the surface, there's a group of people gawking at a horse-drawn carriage, next to a more modern car belonging, you presume, to Jerren's bodyguard. He brought a carriage like this for you and Sasha? This artifact of the Courtyard is a rare sight even on the other half of the surface. It seems so unreal that you wonder if it's for you at all -- until Ionathia leans out the window, waving at you.

"My dear! Hurry, or we shall be mobbed by this crowd!" she calls.

She thinks this is a crowd, huh, you think to yourself with a smile. It's early, and it's the Concourse. You ought to take her to a movie sometime, show her a real crowd. Or to a Krakens game when a popular team is in town.

Jerren's bodyguard escorts you to the carriage. Sasha waves down to you from the front. She's bundled up in a thick cloak with a hood large enough to obscure her eyes, and there's a blanket over her lap. "Isn't this amazing?" she calls, her smile brilliant.

You only catch a glimpse of Jerren, sitting next to Sasha. He bows his head to you before you're rushed into the carriage. There's a murmur from the crowd, and you hear someone mention your old name. What are they making of the traitor's daughters being met with such a welcome from a member of the royal family?

Inside the carriage, Adaleia draws curtains over the window while Ionathia squeezes you tightly. "I am so -- so -- _so_ happy for this," she squeaks. "I've always thought it _such_ a tragedy that -- that things should have ended like they did, and... well, I'm just happy you can at least do this, that's all."

"Only Prince Jerren could pull off a caper like this," Adaleia says. "How audacious that man is!"

"I thought for sure the guards would never agree to let the two of you back in for the day," Ionathia says. "When we merely wanted to _see_ you the other day, they were so _dreadfully_ fussy about it." She leans back, putting her hand to her forehead and closing her eyes.

"I'm not sure they would have let us out if he hadn't been there," Adaleia adds. "The way they reacted at first, you'd have thought I'd kicked their dog! They wanted written permission from my parents, and her husband, and for us to have a chaperone... And that was before they understood who we intended to see!"

Your friends had mentioned they'd met Jerren when they left the Courtyard -- when he gave them that book of poetry to deliver to you -- but not that he'd helped them deal with the guards. So you owe even your reunion to him, even though you hadn't known it... 

"It was more difficult this time, even for him," Ionathia admits. "But he sorted it out _all_ out in the end. By the time he was done with the guards, he had them agreeing that all three of them were New Ebott's _foremost_ humanitarians for helping you visit your family's grave."

"And that taking the bribe he was offering them was the greatest act of charity ever performed," Adaleia adds with a smirk.

"Why am I not surprised?" you murmur.

"Look! We have a present for you," Ionathia says, beaming as she thrusts a package in your lap. "Open it! Open it!"

"And don't get all cross and self-denying about it, now," Adaleia adds as you undo the wrapping paper and unfold a brilliantly decorated, marigold-colored gown in the classic Courtyard style, with a waistline under your bust and puffed sleeves. "It's not charity. It's because we can't have you running around with someone like him looking like you work at the dump. It'll be less embarrassing all around if you just put it on."

You run the fine fabric through your fingers, speechless. As you've been buying your own fabric for clothes for several years now, you have a better appreciation of what this kind of dress actually costs than you did when you routinely wore such things. "I -- I can't accept this..."

"Borrow it then! Just for a few hours. We can decide what to do with it later."

"It's one of my old dresses, if it makes you feel any better," Ionathia explains. "I haven't worn it since I was married."

"Well..." You run it through your fingers again. "It's so pretty," you murmur. "I just..."

"You'll feel _so_ much more comfortable wearing it," Ionathia says. "Jerren promised to keep this all as private as he can, but people will still see you, you know..."

"And talk incessantly about you, for months if not years afterward," Adaleia chimes in, rolling her eyes.

"I just think, well, it'll be _easier_ for you if you're dressed to fit in, that's all."

"Uh... I suppose that's true..." You regard the dress again. It couldn't possibly be any more different from the purposely drab, practical clothes you sew for yourself, and it seems to call to you, begging you to put it on and feel a little more like your old self. First Jerren tempting you with a visit to your family, now your friends tempting you with beautiful clothes? These people certainly know your weak points. "All right. Thank you."

Both of your friends beam as they help you shimmy out of your old dress and into the new one in the small space of the carriage. 

"There! Oh, you look _radiant_ ," Ionathia says as she folds up your old dress and starts to work on your hair.

You look down at yourself critically.

"It's not really your color, but no one can fault the quality, and the cut is good. By which I mean it showcases your breasts. Don't give me that look, Io! She was thinking the same thing," Adaleia says.

"Yeah, I was," you confess, smiling. If Sans could see you like this... Well, of course Sans can't see you like this, but you do like to think he would be impressed. Not that he hasn't already got an eyeful of your breasts, to say nothing of how he's cupped them in his hands and teased your nipples with his tongue... You look down at your breasts again, your cheeks feeling hot, and your friends giggle.

"I can think of _someone_ who will be happy to see her dressed so fine..." Ionathia elbows Adaleia.

"You're as subtle as a brick to the head," Adaleia replies, rolling her eyes.

"Well, everything you say is like _two_ bricks to the head, so there," Ionathia retorts.

"Just two? I'm getting soft in my old age." Adaleia turns to you. "I suppose you'd better know now. The whole Courtyard is convinced Prince Jerren is pining away for you. You did read that book of poetry he gave you?"

"I, uh, yeah, I did," you stammer.

"Then you read the poem about you, of course."

"Um, I couldn't be certain it was about me..."

"How _modest_ you are, darling!" Ionathia laughs. "Of course it was. And wasn't it divine? I'm simply brought to _tears_ when I think of it..."

"It was creepy," you mumble, but you don't press the point. Maybe you should have chosen chaperones who weren't such big fans of Jerren.

"Well, do listen to this!" Ionathia says. "People were talking about the poem at a party the other day. And one of the men there was saying... uh... I'm afraid he said some rather, um, unkind things," she says, starting to flush. 

You look to Adaleia for more details, but -- unusually for her -- she just grimaces and looks down at her feet.

You summon your best substitute mother voice. "Tell me what he said."

"It, uh... well, it was _hardly_ worth repeating," Ionathia offers, her lip wobbling.

"It was the product of a diseased, maggot-ridden mind. I feel stupider and more vulgar merely for having heard the story second-hand," Adaleia growls.

"If everyone is talking about this incident, I'd prefer to know what's being said."

"Are you actually going to insist on my repeating such trash?" Adaleia says with a scowl. You nod, and she grimaces. "Who knew you were such a masochist?" This makes your cheeks feel hot, but she probably chalks it up to the subject matter. "Well, if you must know... He said that after crawling around in the gutters of New Ebott for so long you couldn't possibly be fit to associate with anyone but monsters and gangsters. And, uh..." She flushes and falls silent.

"It gets worse," Ionathia whispers.

"Must be pretty bad if you can't say it," you say to Adaleia with a weak smile. 

She takes a deep breath. "He said, maybe he'd follow you underground sometime and find out how much you charged for a night," she admits, her voice tiny.

You scowl, your stomach turning. "Good to know. I'll be prepared to tell him to go to hell." After all, you've only ever sold yourself to monsters, you think, feeling like a fraud in the company of your sheltered friends. 

"Oh, he won't _dare_ ," Ionathia says. "Jerren settled _him_ beautifully."

You raise your eyebrows. "What happened?"

"Everyone had thought he'd left the party already, but it turned out that he was actually in earshot," Adaleia says with glee. "And he walked right over and punched the guy in the nose!" Her eyes light up as she smacks her fist in her palm.

Taken by surprise, you can't help but laugh nervously. "He didn't!"

"He _did_ ," Ionathia says, laughing too. "And he said that you were one of the most noble women he'd ever known, and he'd hear nothing said against you in his presence."

Jerren tends to get sarcastic rather than angry, you've noticed, so assuming your friends are passing on accurate information, this seems like it may have been a rare show of genuine emotion from him. All to defend a woman in exile... Despite yourself, you're touched. 

"And so you can understand why people are starting to think he's carrying a torch for you," Ionathia trills. "Once they hear about how he's brought you back here, too, that will only fuel the rumors..."

"So if you catch anyone staring at you, it's probably not so much because of your family, it's because they're all wondering what's so great about you that a man like him is willing to punch people over you. Welcome home," Adaleia adds.

"I have to admit, that is flattering... But it's rather beyond the point. I didn't come here today to spend time with him," you remind them.

They seem abashed as they recollect just what it is you did come to the Courtyard for, and there's silence as the carriage travels to the checkpoint at the wall separating the two halves of the surface. 

You'd never told them about what happened between you and Jerren. By then, out of awkwardness and self-preservation, they'd both distanced themselves from you, and when you remembered the incident you felt sick and ashamed in a way that, as an eighteen-year old virgin, you couldn't articulate well. Should you fill them in? And then how would you answer the next, obvious question: what are you thinking, letting him do this favor for you? If you gave a full explanation of the situation, it seems likely they'd decide, as Sasha did, that he's a reformed man and praise him all the higher. You're not sold on this transformation... but your resolve to turn down his offer didn't last an hour. For now, you decide, you'll let it go.

Jerren had promised to make the day go smoothly, and so far he seems to be keeping that promise. The carriage stops at the checkpoint for only a few minutes, and the guards don't even try to look inside the carriage. Given the dire threats the head of Courtyard security once threatened you with should you even think of trying to get past the wall, it seems anticlimactic to simply be waved on through. You imagine Stefanson sitting at his desk, absorbed by whatever busywork Jerren found to occupy his morning as the daughters of the woman he despised sail right on through his defenses.

"There," Ionathia says with relish, turning to the window. "Now we're free of any looky-loo Concourse crowds, let's open the --" She freezes with her hand on the cord of the curtain and looks at you, her expression chagrined. "Unless of course you'd rather not..."

Does she think it'd be too overwhelming to see the Courtyard, after your exile? That you're scared of the people you grew up among staring at you, wondering how much you charge for a night? She's right... but now is not the time to give in to your fear. "Open them," you say.

She and Adaleia busy themselves opening the curtains, not looking at you. 

You attempt to look outside, but tears blur your vision. It's a muddle of warm colors in the light of the early morning. You wipe your eyes, trying to get your composure back. It's so improbable you're here at all, and the spell will be broken soon... This is your chance to fix it all in your mind, to refresh your memories before returning underground. 

It's all very much as you remember, as if it's been frozen in time, waiting for you to return. The Courtyard always was particularly lovely in the fall, trees blazing orange and red alongside the roads. This early in the day, the streets are quiet and nearly empty. You lean back from the window as the carriage passes an elderly couple, who stand aside respectfully. 

It's been so long that you don't even know where you are... Jerren must be taking a longer route to avoid people. The carriage meanders through a side street that passes by a stately house. Ionathia lays her hand on your shoulder. "Are you... well, are you _bearing_ it?" she asks, her own eyes full of tears.

"Yes... yes, thank you," you say absently. 

"This is the easy part compared to what's to come," Adaleia says. She looks out the window, her expression thoughtful. "I still can't believe he's just bringing you back like this. What a goofball," she says. Her tone betrays the awe and respect she doesn't convey with her word choice; Adaleia considers this praise. 

"I'm sure everything will go _just_ as he wishes," Ionathia says, patting your shoulder.

You don't doubt that, but again, you don't press the point. Instead you space out, watching the buildings and trees go by, listening to the sound of the horses' hooves against the cobblestones. You can't help but smile, wondering what Clarence would say if he could see you now after his tirade against horses and, indeed, the entire concept of the surface. You could work out exactly how much minute of this procession actually costs, if you added up how much it costs to feed and care for the horses, maintain the road and the carriage, pay Jerren's bodyguard's salary and gas up his car. It's impossible to lose yourself in the beauty of this enclave, knowing that underneath your feet there's hungry kids, people dying of whitepox, desperate women selling themselves to pay the bills, and the only difference between you and them is who your mother was... How much better off would they all be if the ridiculous amounts of money needed to keep the Courtyard running was redirected underground? Or if the members of the aristocracy took their jobs seriously and worked to improve the lot of those who weren't as fortunate... or if they had their power taken from them?

You sigh and close your eyes. It’s not like rejecting this offer would have made anything one bit better for anyone underground. It’s just a few hours... it won’t change anything one way or the other. Put aside the question of how much this all must cost, and fix the experience in your heart, for it'll be over soon enough.

You gasp when you open your eyes and find yourself passing through the field near your estate. Now you know exactly where you are... You and Adaleia used to walk along this road to visit Ionathia. Matty used to hang out in the grove over there, setting up targets for target practice. You can almost envision him, and the little girl who'd so often tagged along with the two of you... Theodora had been her name. You picture her here, too, wearing your brother's old clothes and following him as he balanced on the fence. It's been so long... you'd almost forgotten her. You swallow hard, affected by memories of the unfortunate girl. The poor thing, having Stefanson as a father wasn’t something you’d wish on your worst enemy. At least her soul's at peace now, you hope.

Before you know it, you're back at your old home, the carriage making its way up the driveway. How beautiful it is, still... modest by Courtyard standards, but with large windows that let in the precious sunlight and allow a view of the beautiful garden outside. Must be hell keeping all those windows clean, you note. It's an unexpectedly prosaic thought to have on such a memorable occasion. How strange it is to remember living here, to have this peaceful, luxurious existence be all that you knew, to be so oblivious to the demands of reality that you never thought of the work involved in cleaning the windows you looked out of every day. Your heart seems to squeeze into a tight ball in your chest as you approach it for the first time in nearly six years. How can you do this? For you, this house is filled with ghosts of your family, of all you've lost...

Ionathia puts her arm around your shoulders, hugging you as the carriage goes to the front of the building and comes to a stop. You take a deep breath. You can do this.

The door opens, and Jerren's bodyguard offers you a hand to help you out of the carriage. You glance around for Jerren; he's helping Sasha get into her wheelchair. "Thank you," you murmur as you climb out.

Here you are... feet on Courtyard soil once again. You'd expected it to feel like a dream, but it doesn't. You've dreamt of returning here many times since your exile, and the dreams are always awful -- filled with people you don't know, locations that don't exist, tasks you can't complete, pursuers you can't escape. In the quiet morning, this feels sturdy and real. Life has gone on here without you, and the island doesn't even know you're back.

"I can't believe we're here! Isn't this great? And you look so pretty!" Sasha cries, her voice jubilant. Jerren is pushing her wheelchair over towards you.

"So do you," you say, starting to smile. Now you notice that under the cloak and blanket, she too is wearing a new dress. White, with silver embroidery. She's also holding a bouquet of brilliantly colored chrysanthemums. "Where'd that dress come from? And the flowers?"

"My sister," Ionathia explains. "It hasn't fit her in _ages_." Whew... you'd worried the dress had been a present from Jerren.

"And we put together the flowers for you to leave at the grave," Adaleia adds. "No doubt there's nothing but weeds down there."

"Isn't this dress lovely? Look! Here, hold this," Sasha says to Jerren, pushing the blanket in his arms. You can't help but smile, seeing her act for all the world as if the prince of New Ebott is her butler. She slips the cloak off her shoulders and poses for you.

In a white dress, holding a bouquet, you can imagine what she might look like as a bride. Tears come to your eyes as you murmur "Mama would have loved to see you like this..." It'd broken her heart that she would never see her youngest daughter grow up.

This sobers her instantly, and she puts the cloak and blanket back over herself as she mumbles "Well, guess she'll get to."

Ionathia takes your arm. "Are you... well, are you ready for this?" she says quietly to you.

"No," you mumble back, wiping your eyes. 

"We'll stay with you. Or go away, if you want us to. Or... uh, whatever you want," Adaleia says, patting your back awkwardly.

"Thank you..."

Jerren walks over to you, reaching into his pocket for something. "The family appears to be otherwise occupied this morning. And as it happens, the head housekeeper has given the servants the morning off. I also seem to have found this in my possession --" He tosses a key ring to you, and in your surprise you fumble and drop it. As you stoop to pick it up, he continues "I estimate we have the run of the place until noon."

It's almost seven o'clock now... Five hours. You look blankly at him. "Do I want to know how you pulled all this off?"

"You know I don't give away my secrets that easily," he says with a wink. "Come, let's pay our respects. Lead the way."

You're holding the keys... He's asking, you suppose, if you'd like to go through the house or straight through the gardens. You're not quite ready to brave the house, to see what changes have been made to the home in which you grew up. "Here, allow me," you say, handing Sasha the keys and reaching for the handles of her wheelchair. Somehow you want her as near to you as she can possibly be... both for moral support, and perhaps so you don't collapse. Jerren relinquishes the job with a nod, falling back to walk with Ionathia and Adaleia.

The party is somber as you lead them around the corner. You look down at the keys in your sister's hand. Five hours Jerren has given you... five hours to visit your family's graves, explore the gardens, roam the house. It's an incredible gift... it's what your heart has long desired, and known it could never have. Carried away by nostalgia and emotion, you can barely hear the little voice inside that still insists that you shouldn't have accepted this favor.

Sasha's eyes widen. She looks around, calling "Uh... Jerren?" A pause, as she scans the area with a frown. "Jerren?" Her voice is puzzled as she mumbles to herself, "Where'd he go?"

You pay her no notice. A dog is bounding through the trees toward you -- a beagle! -- an older dog, with floppy ears and a wildly wagging tail. You drop to your knees, your arms out. "Orion!" You hug him, and he licks your face. "Look, Sasha! Orion's alive!"

She looks troubled, but she puts out a tentative hand and is rewarded with a lick. "He looks so old..."

"He was still just a puppy when we left... How ya doing, old boy?" you coo, scratching his ears. "I missed you so much... I guess you just ran out on me, after all? Silly boy..." You'd sometimes had visions of the people who'd vandalized your garden taking out their anger on your poor dog, or pictured him stuck somewhere, maybe with a broken leg, starving... But Orion is perfectly healthy and happy.

"I forgot... He ran off right before you left, didn't he?" Adaleia says.

"Yes, I thought maybe he'd run away, or... something else happened to him..."

There's a whistle from the grove near the house. "Rocky! Rocky, c'mere boy!" a faint voice calls before whistling again.

Rocky? Your precious Matty gave this precious dog his precious name, and someone renamed him Rocky? 

Another whistle, and a voice that now sounds worried repeats "Rocky? Here, boy!"

Rocky. Poor Orion. You give him a sympathetic pat before calling "He's over here!"

A couple of boys, perhaps about twelve or thirteen, emerge from the grove. You... think...? that they might be children of a couple of the servants who works for Adaleia's family. You'd paid less attention to that kind of thing than you probably should have, back in the day. "Sorry 'bout that! Bad dog, Rocky! Come," one of them orders. Orion wags his tail, but stays where he is. "Come on, boy," the boy says, motioning toward the dog. Orion whines. "What's gotten into you?"

"I'm sorry, it's just... I haven't seen him for a while," you explain.

The kids look at you blankly. If they're about thirteen, then they would have been around seven when you left, and perhaps might not be able to recognize you. "I used to live here," you continue.

"Oh," one of the kids says, suddenly looking guilty. 

"Yes, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves!" Adaleia snaps, her hands on her hips.

"Why don't you two explain to her what happened to this _poor_ doggie?" Ionathia says.

"We found him running around," one says, looking down and scuffing the dirt. "We didn't want you to take him underground." He says it as if you had been preparing to take the dog straight to hell -- which, from the point of view of most Courtyard residents, is one and the same. 

"So?" Adaleia prompts, glaring at them.

"So we hid him," the kid admits. "Until you were gone."

"Oh!" Your eyes widen. "So that's how come I couldn't find him..."

"You brats dog-napped Orion!" Sasha growls.

"Rocky," one of the kids says, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling. "He likes being Rocky."

"And he wants to be with us! We take good care of him," the other kid says defensively. "You wouldn’t take him down there, would you?"

You look at the dog, then at the kids. Orion is one of the few links left to your brother... On the other hand, even if they did dognap him, he's been their dog for six years. You can't really take these kids' dog away from them, just because you're sentimental... 

"No, he's your dog now, right?"

Sasha looks at you and mouths "Really?" You nod, and she frowns but doesn't contradict you. The kids look relieved. "Thank you, ma'am," one says.

"Just... can he stay with us for the morning?"

The kids don't look thrilled at this idea, but Adaleia's death glare seems to help them say "Uh... Yeah, I guess..."

"Thank you..." You scratch Orion behind the ears. "I wonder if he still knows the tricks Matty taught him?"

"He knows a bunch of tricks," one of the kids says, looking proud. "Rocky! Shake!" He offers Orion his hand, and Orion places his paw in it. "Good dog! Roll over." Orion drops to the ground and rolls. "Good dog! Speak!" Orion gives a sharp bark. "Good dog!" He pets his back, then turns to you for approval of his knack with the dog.

"He really does have a bond with you," you say, but although you're smiling your heart hurts, seeing your brother supplanted in even this small way. "Did you know he could do this? Orion, dance!" The dog rears up on his hind legs and spins in a circle in front of you.

"Wow," the kid says, his eyes wide.

"Matty was so proud of that one. He spent hours teaching him..." Oh, here come the tears again, because this dog is still here, loved and cared for, Matty's training impressed in its mind, and your brother is gone. You wipe your eyes, and Orion nuzzles your hand. "Thanks for... for letting me borrow him," you say, petting Orion absently. "C'mon, Orion. Let's go see Matty."

You lead a somber procession through the garden, Orion trotting by your side. Your mother loved this garden... Not that she ever did any gardening, she always thought it rather a shame that flowers needed dirt to grow. But she'd planned the layout of the garden, and it'd been well known for its beauty... You'd spent so much time here, sketching birds, flowers and gardeners. The new owners have made their own modifications, but the bare bones of the garden are the same. How nice for them, you think bitterly. This estate had likely been quite a bargain.

The section of the garden where your family's ashes were scattered is now enclosed in tall, bare brick walls. Adaleia opens the gate, and you pilot Sasha through. Adaleia puts a hand on your shoulder as you find yourself standing on ground you thought you'd never see again. Your legs feel shaky, and you lean against her, vision obscured by tears. 

She pats your arm. "I understand," she says, her voice gentle and husky. "I come back when I can, to remember Matty..."

There were once flowerbeds here, but now there's just a large patch of grass, surrounded by a gravel path bordering the walls, on which three small trees are growing. "It wasn't like this before," you say absently, still feeling dazed.

"I'm sorry... I wish it was prettier. I'd have made it prettier if the new neighbors weren't such chowderheads. They walled it up like this, and they didn't like me coming over all the time. They got even more mad when I started sneaking over at night," Adaleia explains, scowling. "We eventually agreed, I could come over once a month to tend to the area." You cringe, listening to this story. Thank goodness these people are gone today... they sound like, left to their own devices, they might have given you ten minutes to visit the gravesite and considered themselves generous. "Since I couldn't take care of it properly, I thought I'd plant three trees, to represent them. I didn't think about what you'd want because I didn't think you'd ever see it again. I hope you like it," she says, sounding genuinely worried.

"Oh Addy, it makes me so happy," you breathe.

She looks down, scuffing her feet in the gravel. "It's not that big a deal. It's just plants."

Sasha is looking at the trees, her eyes too bright and her face resolute as she scratches Orion’s ears mechanically. You touch her shoulder. "It's okay to cry, Sasha. They'd understand."

"I'm not gonna. I told myself I wouldn't waste time being a big blubbery crybaby," she says sternly. She's gritting her teeth, trying so hard to be stoic and tough that she sounds angry.

Matty had been first... Your mother had been in prison, and wasn't allowed to leave even to scatter the ashes with her family. Too soon, it had then been her turn, and your father scattered her ashes as he'd done for his son. Then you'd done it for him...

There's a simple grave marker placed in the middle of the trees with their names, dates of birth and dates of death on it. You kneel and run your fingers over it, blinded by tears. This part of the garden had been so different, once... Free of the high walls and the association with death, it had just been a peaceful, quiet part of the estate where you and Matty liked to read or share each other's company. Now, if there's anything left of your family's souls, they sleep here eternally... You can't see anymore, you're crying too hard, but it's as if you can feel them there with you, as if you're connecting with them after six lonely years.

"We'll just give you some time," Ionathia whispers. You barely register her and Adaleia slipping out the gate.

You help Sasha out of her wheelchair, and the two of you kneel on the grass in front of the grave marker. Sasha's hands tremble as she places the bouquet next to it. You hunch over, touching your forehead to the ground and breathing deeply of the grass and soil.

You'd been paralyzed for a while, after Louis took you and Sasha under his wing. Once you hadn't had to scramble to feed your sister and find a safe place to sleep, you had the luxury of abandoning yourself to grief. But eventually you'd learned to swallow your emotions, to tamp them all down and control them. You had to. Pain as great as yours would split the world in two, if you let it all out.

For the first time in years, you don't hold back.

You wail -- or scream, perhaps -- as the slowly-simmering grief that's built up within you boils over and engulfs you. You've longed so for this moment, you would have given anything for it, it's all been so awful, so goddamn lonely and hard and unbearable all the time. You barely know yourself anymore, you've wished so desperately that wherever they are is where you could be. Now your soul seems to be slipping from your body as surely as if Sans was drawing it from you, leaving your flesh limp and useless as it flows into the ground and up the roots of the three trees. You imagine your soul coursing through the branches and filling out the veins of the red and gold leaves. You can almost see the dying leaves turning as green as your soul, shining so brilliantly the hidden garden fills with light. Your beloved family isn't really here with you -- reality will intrude, even in the depths of your greatest grief -- but oh, how it feels like they are, warmed and animated by the strength of your soul, brought back to you just for one morning...

Sprawled out on the ground, you sob and tremble, taking in air in great heaving breaths. 

"Mama... Papa... Matty... I'm so sorry..."

Sasha frowns. "What are you sorry for?" 

Your voice breaks as you stammer "I -- I don't know, I just... I tried -- I tried so hard and it's never enough and I put you through hell and, uh... I've done things I'm not proud of..." Hopefully Sasha doesn't inquire too closely as to what those things might be. You knew from the moment Sans offered you that deal just what it would mean to make a deal with a man like him. Plus -- you can't help but glance at Orion -- some of your clients were so mammalian that you've never been able to shake a sense you've committed bestiality. "And -- and I'm an awful substitute mother, and I'm just so tired, all the time..."

"You are not awful! I'm the one who's awful, I'm always getting into trouble, and I feel so mad every day, and -- and I got stupid whitepox and it would have been better if it'd just killed me off quickly --"

You push yourself up from the ground, turning to look at her with alarm. "Don't say that!"

"It's true though! Look how it turned out!" She lowers her voice, speaking in a harsh whisper. "I'm the reason you're selling yourself to a gangster and I can't stand it!"

"You're -- I -- I don't think -- it's not you," you say through tears. "It's not your fault, okay? It's because I just can't do this without you! I -- I couldn't think any further than your funeral and when I saw the chance I took it and I'd do it again, I'd do worse if I had to! Because -- because I failed them, and if I failed you too I'd have nothing left!"

This gives her pause. "So... I'm your reason to live?"

"I, uh..." You wipe your face, sniffling. "Yeah, I guess so..."

"But no pressure, right?" She smiles wryly, and you can't help but smile too.

"I'm sorry..."

"No, it makes sense... Because I feel like, uh..." She clenches her teeth, clearly trying not to cry. "I know you never wanted to, uh, do what you did, you know? I used to think, why does she do that stupid job and all that piecework if she hates it so much? Then eventually I realized, uh, you were trying to protect us from -- from ever having sleep with someone to survive.."

"I'd been that desperate once," you confess. "I never wanted to feel that way again."

"But you still did it for me," she says, her voice strained. "And I don't want you to get hurt, and I just..." Tears appear in her eyes, and her voice climbs into a wail you don't often hear from her. "I know something's gonna happen and it kills me that it's because of me, I should have died, I'd rather be dead than see that man hurt you..."

"I'd rather die than lose you," you sob.

Struck by this, she starts laughing, loud, hysterical sobs. "Well, then I guess we're both idiots," she manages to get out.

Somehow this strikes you as hilarious, and you laugh just like she laughs, in great, gasping sobs. She collapses against you, and you wrap your arms around her, holding her as the two of you lose yourselves in emotion. Her thin body shakes in your arms, and you hold her tighter. 

Perhaps here in this sacred garden, your soul can flow into her body and rejuvenate her. The image lends you strength, even as you cry in a way you haven't cried in years and years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to APJFM! From here on out, things are going to be fun. (You know, like the 'fun' variable kind of fun.) 
> 
> Longtime readers may remember that I wrote many chapters of this story before ever posting a word, but I wound up rewriting large chunks of the first part and adding scenes accordingly, which culminated in my having to take a hiatus to write several chapters of Reader's visit to the Courtyard.
> 
> Well, I've written those chapters. I've linked the outcome with the story past that point, and though I have a lot of editing to do things are back on track. I'm going to try to post a new chapter every week. So those of you who have been with me since the beginning are about to be rewarded for your patience. (And for those of you who are late to the party, you're lucky ducks -- for now. I will probably need to take another hiatus around chapter 60 or so.)
> 
> I’ve been gifted with some glorious fan art lately! shewolf created this [picture of Sans in his unhemmed robe](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/169808894330/the-shewolf-den-thanks-to-thebananafrappes-fic), and [a selection of scenes from APJFM](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/169868900790/the-shewolf-den-more-fan-art-for-a-puzzle-just). I love them all, but the one with Sans on the couch, beer in hand, particularly delights me -- isn't it easy just to imagine sitting down next to him and him putting his arm around you? And hibernalbeast drew this [lovely picture of Sans and Reader chilling on the couch](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/170433382575/hibernalbeast-fanart-time-yet-again-scene). Sans' expression in this one is great... and Reader's hair looks amazing!
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta readers [peonylanterns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [kenyaketchup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) and zeroiha! If you're into Undertale fanfiction you may already know peonylanterns from [Remembrance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5733991/chapters/13212799) and kenyaketchup from [Creep](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5752618/chapters/13254880), but zeroiha is at a disadvantage as far as promotion through AO3 links goes, because she writes and draws comics. So if you like stories that start off with explicit sexual content then are gradually revealed to be something deeper -- and I know you do because you are reading APJFM -- then I highly recommend her story [Audio File](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com/post/162688599302/a-master-link-for-my-ongoing-smut-comic-audio-file).
> 
> Chapter 25 will be up sometime next week; come back for Reader finding peace and connecting with her sister. (And I know I'm stretching the bounds of Sans/Reader fanfic, but I had to do this section of the story right, with no shortcuts. Sans will be back in chapter 31.)
> 
> Check out [my tumblr](neroli9.tumblr.com) for fun ask memes, thoughts on writing and Sans fanart!
> 
> Here's a calendar through this chapter. (Coming soon)


	25. all is sanctified, all is forgiven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/170976481625/a-puzzle-just-for-me-summary-to-24)

Before too long Sasha brings herself back under control in a way that’s very familiar to you, swallowing hard and stiffening her muscles. It’s as if she, too, fears what might happen if she lets herself go completely wild with grief. Her body trembles with the effort of curbing her emotions, and she takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes gingerly. A distressed Orion nuzzles at her hand, and she pats his head. "Jeez. So much for not being a crybaby," she mumbles.

"Like you could ever be a crybaby," you say fondly. "You're the strongest person I know.”

She laughs dryly. "I don't feel like it. I just feel... scared, and stupid, and useless. And I, uh... I just want things to go right for once," she admits in a tiny voice. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," you murmur, and you're surprised to find it's true. "We've been through a lot, but somehow it seems like things are going to be all right..."

"I know things are going to be all right," she says with a smile, leaning back and looking up at the sky.

You lay back down next to her, watching the clouds drift by, feeling at peace with your sister, with your family, and... for once, with yourself. Was it only yesterday your head felt so full of pulsating, warring thoughts that it seemed like it would explode? It feels like a lifetime ago... and your daily life under the clouds feels so far away.

Sasha breaks the silence first. "Uh... thanks for telling me, um, what you said just now," she says. "About why you did what you did. It makes me feel like, maybe it's not all my fault you sold yourself and everything is crap now."

You reach for her hand and squeeze it. "I don't think everything is crap. You're getting better, aren't you?"

"Slowly," she says, her face scrunched up as if she drank a shot of pure lemon juice. 

"And, uh... Stepstool Man really isn't that --"

"Let's not talk about him," she says quickly, scowling. She pauses, looking thoughtful. "And I just wanna say, if I die and you do something stupid?" She props herself up on one arm and pokes you hard in the shoulder. "I'm gonna come back and haunt your ghost."

"Do ghosts even haunt each other?"

"We'll never know 'cause I'm not gonna die and you're not gonna do anything stupid. Deal?" She puts her hand out. You smile, but you take it and shake it somberly.

Here in front of your family's graves, as you and your sister share your most intimate feelings with each other, a deep, forbidden thought bubbles up to the surface.

"I feel like -- like it's my fault they're dead," you confess, almost before you know what you've said. "I always keep thinking of everything I could have done differently..."

"I do too," she whispers. She stops short. "My fault, I mean, not your fault. I mean, I can see the future! Why couldn't I have saved at least one of them!?"

"Oh, Sasha..." You'd never realized that idea preyed on her mind. "It's not your fault! You were just a kid, you didn't know what was going to happen..."

"I _did_ know though," she says, anguish in her voice. "I mean, I didn't exactly know... I didn’t usually get anything that would have been useful... I wasn't as good at understanding it when I was a kid, it was all so confusing, especially after I got sick that one time..." 

Your heart sinks. "But you do think... you knew something?"

"Uh, well, there were a few times where I thought that something bad was going to happen. I never knew what, or when, or if I was even right at all. Then, once it had happened, I could sometimes connect it to what I'd predicted. But only after. I only ever figured it out after." There's so much bitterness in her tone that you can barely stand to listen to her. She sounds so disgusted with herself... Her words start tumbling out faster and faster as she confesses to you. "And -- and I don’t know if there’s anything I could have done about Mama or Matty but there was this one time... I woke up, and I felt like something was wrong. It was just this very faint weird feeling, and I didn't know if it was a prediction or if it was just because of the bad dream I'd been having, but either way I couldn't shake it. I wanted to see Papa, so I snuck out of bed and tried to get to his study. But one of the servants caught me and took me back to my room. She said he didn't want to be disturbed, but he'd see me in the morning." You see where this is going, and a chill runs down your spine as she continues "I was half-asleep, I didn’t think quick enough... But maybe if I'd made a fuss, maybe if I'd made her check on him, if I'd done anything at all... maybe I could have stopped him from killing himself!"

"You don't know that, Sasha!” you say, your own heart heavy. "Even if -- even if maybe it actually was a premonition, and you could have made a difference, you don't know what might have happened the next day, or the day after that... You told me yourself, you can't rely on your predictions. Maybe... maybe you could have changed things that night, but maybe he would have just done it the next day..." 

She sighs. "That's what I try to tell myself too. Maybe someday I'll believe it."

"It can't be changed," you say, surprising yourself with your own intensity. "And it wasn’t your fault. Let it go, Sasha. Papa wouldn't want you dwelling on that night forever."

"Just like Mama wouldn't want you obsessing over clearing her name forever?"

"Touché." You smile wryly as you look back up at the sky. 

"Maybe that's why we're here," she says slowly. "So we can leave all of our guilt with them."

You ponder this for a minute. "Maybe that's why you had your vision yesterday..."

A shadow passes over her face, but she just murmurs "Maybe." She puts her hands behind her head and looks up at the sky. "I just want to say... I know it probably wasn't easy to say yes to this..."

You can't help but smile. "Yeah. I, uh, I actually turned Jerren down at first..."

She starts to giggle. "He told me. I can't believe you told him to shove it."

"I can't believe it either," you say, hiding your face.

"Well, I want you to know, I would have understood if you said no, but I'm so happy you ended up saying yes," she says. She rolls over onto her side and closes her eyes. "I kinda feel like things are going to be all right now, you know?"

"I know what you mean," you say, running your fingers over the grave marker. 

"It was nice of those two to give us some flowers," Sasha says, touching a petal of the bouquet. "The ones underground look like weeds compared to this." 

"I brought some sketches to leave, too," you say, brightening up as you sit up and reach for your handbag.

"Oh?" Sasha perks up as she props herself up on one arm. Her eyes widen as you bring out the drawing of the two of you and place it on the grave marker. "Since when have you been drawing again?"

"Uh, pretty recently. Remember, Stepstool Man got me the sketchbook and colored pencils?"

"He did?"

"You called him a big spender, remember?"

"Oh yeah." She looks embarrassed. "Somehow I didn't realize that meant you were drawing again."

She'd been so eager to score points against Sans that she hadn't made the obvious connection. You can't help but grin. But instead of pointing that out, you just gesture to the picture. "What do you think?"

"It's great!" She sits up, picks up the drawing and studies it. "It's nice to remember what I look like without these," she says, pointing to the pustules on her face.

"And with a little extra meat on your bones," you say, lightly pinching her shoulder.

"I was so cute," she says with a grin. "Now I look like..." She pitches her voice into a sepulchral tone and flutters her fingers at you. "Oooooooooo, I'm gonna haaaaaaaaaunt yoooooouuuuu..."

You laugh. "You don't look _that_ bad. Anyway, we'll get you healthy again," you say, hugging her.

"Thanks," she says, leaning her head against you. "I, uh... I really am happy you didn't give up on me."

"I know," you say, patting her shoulder. "I don't know if I'd want someone to do for me what I did for you. It's a burden for you, isn't it?"

"What could possibly be hard about feeling incredibly grateful and incredibly guilty at the same time, all the time? Piece of cake!" she answers with a wry smile. "Now, what about the other ones?" she asks, pointing to the papers in your hands.

"I drew this one for Papa," you say, handing her the next sketch. It's the five of you sitting around the radio. Only your backs are visible, as you don't remember your parents' faces or Matty's face well enough to draw them.

"Aw, it's us!" she says, grinning. "Probably not listening to a Krakens game, right? ‘Cause Papa isn’t going like—“ She pulls a face and shakes her fist, and you laugh. She continues studying the picture with a distant smile. “Man, you've got a good memory. Mama's favorite hairpin... my doll in that wedding dress you made... and the radio looks just like I remember it..."

You can't help but laugh. "You want to know something bizarre?"

"What?"

"Stepstool Man bought that radio!"

"You're kidding!"

"He did! He's really into music, remember? I thought for sure I'd give myself away when I saw it, but he was so distracted by it he barely even looked at me." You'd still been more like a sexy piece of furniture to him at the time.

Her eyes widen. "Uh... you don't think he knows, do you?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it was just a coincidence."

"Whew." She studies the picture. "How the heck did he get ahold of it?"

"He said he bought it from someone who collected it for its, uh, history, and never listened to it."

"Um... so from someone who collects our old stuff?" Sasha grimaces. "Yikes. That's not creepy or anything."

"No kidding. I keep wondering, what else does this person have? But it's not like I can ask."

"Who knows, maybe we'll find a way to get it all back someday," Sasha says with a knowing smile.

"What, rob the guy?"

"You have broken the law quite enough lately, young lady," she says sternly. "What'd you draw for Matty?"

You pass her the last sketch. It's the two of you, stargazing. Matty's face is hidden by his arm, as he points to a constellation. A younger Orion sits next to him, his tail wagging. 

"He would have loved it," Sasha murmurs as she studies it. 

"Thank you..."

"I was always so jealous of you two."

"Really? Because we were so close?"

"Yeah, but more than that... it felt like no one needed this annoying baby sister when you were off doing big, important twin things," she says, rolling her eyes and adding a mocking flourish of her hand. "I mean, in that picture I'm probably like..." She points to the grove of trees at the edge of the paper. "Hiding here or something." She exhales. "Especially after I found out I wasn't really your sister..."

"You are my sister."

"We don't have the same father."

"So? We both grew up with Papa --" You pause, suddenly realizing that your memories and hers might differ. "He didn't ever treat you differently... did he?"

"Oh, no, no," she says, shaking her head. "I'd never have figured it out if I hadn't been spying on some of the servants..."

You gasp. You'd found out during your mother's trial... and you'd assumed she had too. "When was that?"

"When I was seven."

Two years before you'd known. "Shit." You clap your hand over your mouth. "Uh. Sorry." Sans is really rubbing off on you...

She bursts out laughing. "I didn't even know you knew that one."

You roll your eyes. "You'd be surprised what I know. And, uh, what I don't know, I guess. Jeez... I'm sorry you had to keep a secret like that..."

"It wasn't so bad. It's just, uh... Sometimes I wondered if you and Matty knew, and that's why you didn't seem to have time for me."

You wince and squeeze her to you. "Aw, Sasha... I'm sorry we made you feel left out. That wasn't it at all! We were just stupid teenagers, you know? Doing big, important twin things." You say this in a comically pompous tone, and she giggles."Honestly, I was a lot more self-centered back then. That's all it was. I didn't know you had a different father until the trial... but honestly, I don't care who Mama slept with to get you, you're the best sister I could have asked for."

She snuggles up to you. "Thank you," she whispers. There's a pause. "I actually don't know who the guy was. I mean, it was before she even met Mr. Terrorist Fartface, so at least it wasn't him."

You snort. "Thanks for not calling Stepstool Man 'Mr. Gangster Fartface.'" 

"Don't give me ideas," she says with a grin. "Anyway, Mama said she'd tell me when I was older, but then when it came right down to it she wouldn't."

"She must have had her reasons," you say gently.

"I wonder sometimes," Sasha says, shaking her head. "I mean, I still don't understand any of it. She slept with other people and Papa liked it? It makes no sense."

You groan. As you -- along with the whole Courtyard -- found out during your mother's trial, your parents were into cuckolding. "I keep trying to forget I know that. I dunno what to tell you, Sasha. People are weird about sex." For example, you like to get slapped and called a slut. Maybe Sasha will turn out to be the vanilla one in the family.

"I guess none of it matters now," she says, shaking her head. "Do you think they're really at peace?"

Do you? Somehow, when you pictured them before today, the memories that came to you were ones of anguish and torment. How could their souls ever be at peace, given the way their lives ended? But here in this quiet, still garden, all is sanctified, all is forgiven... and the images of your family that come to mind heal your heart instead of wounding it afresh with every memory. "Yes," you say, starting to cry again. "I do."

"Me too," she whispers. She places your sketch for Matty by the other two sketches, then bows her head. Praying, perhaps, or in communion with whatever of your family remains in this spot. The poor kid... Your heart breaks, thinking that all this time she's felt herself responsible for their deaths. Will this bring her some peace, too? To confess that fear to someone else, to spend some time at their resting place? You told her to let it go... Maybe she can. Maybe you can too.

It's been a big morning for Sasha... and she looks exhausted, her eyes drowsy. Orion settles down near her and plops down on the grass, resting by her side. You arrange her cloak over her, and she smiles and turns over on her side.

"I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too," you whisper back, smoothing down her hair.

She smiles as she takes your hand and squeezes it. She closes her eyes, and her breathing slows down. Before long, she's asleep.

You lay on your back next to her in the spot between the three trees, looking up at the sky. Here in this garden, even knowing your loved ones are dead, you feel like they're with you. You always feel like you'd been cut off from them, but now everything is right again. You'd thought that when you got here, you might feel like you could talk to them... but now you're actually here, you have the most freeing feeling that you needn't say anything. That somehow, they already know your story, your fears, your pain... all the things you've longed to share with them. And somehow, you can imagine that your mother understands why you sold yourself, that she forgives you for not being able to clear her name... that your father knows that you love him, that you've let go of your anger at him for taking his own life... that your brother is proud of you, that he knows you'll never forget him. You’re certain that they all honor you for all you've done to protect and care for Sasha and yourself... and that they all love you eternally, no matter what. You feel that love as if they're all there with you, instead of just your sleeping sister, and you close your eyes, reveling in the sensation. How would your soul look if Sans drew it out now? It must be brilliant, so brilliant it could burn your eyes, shining with pure peace.

A lark lands on a branch above your head and starts preening, fussing over its feathers in a charmingly fastidious way. It feels like a good omen; your old last name, Calandra, is taken from this species of lark, and even if your family name is disgraced among humans, at least this bird can bear it with pride. Maybe it’s a good omen... maybe even a sign from your family, some last communication from the traces of their souls. Your rational side tells you it’s no great coincidence that a bird should sit in a tree, but your sentimental side treasures the experience. You focus on it, taking in the artistic details that please your soul. The delicate way it twitters and flutters as it puts every feather in order... the dark speckles on its brown feathers, shading into a soft white... the bright chirps it bestows on you before flying off into the glorious blue— 

Something warm and wet splashes on your forehead, and you squeal and sit up, reflexively wiping away bird poop. "Ugh!" You wipe your hand on the grass by the grave marker. Wait, is that disrespectful?

The noise wakes up Sasha. "What happened?" she mumbles.

"Oh, this stupid bird pooped on my head," you grumble as you get your handkerchief out of your handbag and clean yourself off. "I’m just laying here watching it like, oh, what a nice birdie, maybe it’s a good omen, maybe it’s like my family saying they’re proud of me... then, splat!"

"Huh. I really do think that's a sign."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A sign from Matty saying, lighten up already," Sasha suggests, giggling.

You can't help but laugh too. "Probably.” You look over at her, feeling warmth and love for your sister blossom in your chest. Here in this sacred space, being with her is enough. She's not a poor consolation for the family you should still have, not some sort of burden to bear in penance for your failure, not the only thing that gives your worthless life meaning. She's just your sister, and you love her, and you regret nothing. Your soul is yours again, and your body is light. Is this how it feels to be reborn? You stretch out, feeling energy course through your body. You could run the length of the Courtyard like this, Orion by your side with the energy of a puppy, not an old dog.

Sasha sits up and stretches. "Do you think we have enough time to go look at the house? Or, uh, do you think it'd be too much?"

"Oh, I definitely want to see the house!"

"Good. Because I have to pee so bad and I didn't want to ask one of _them_ for help!"

The two of you are quiet as you pilot her through the gardens back toward the house, Orion trotting at your side. You could get used to this feeling of peace, of serenity. It's as if a little voice in your head that's spent the last six years telling you in great detail how you've failed your family has finally, finally started to shut up. You look down at your sister, smiling affectionately. She's had the same voice in her head, you now realize, but you hope it's been silenced for her as well.

Orion’s new owners are waiting for you near the house. "Enjoy your stolen dog. You dirty dog-nappers," Sasha grumbles as she leans over to give Orion one last pat.

You kneel down to give him a hug, and he licks your cheek and ear as you stroke his fur. "Be a good boy now," you whisper.

The two of you watch the dog trot off with the boys.

"It's not fair," Sasha says, slumping down into her wheelchair.

"You don’t think he’s better off up here?"

She purses her lips. "I think he should be with us."

"After six years with those kids?" You shake your head. "He's been their dog longer than he was our dog. I couldn't do it."

"I could," she mutters under her breath, but she doesn't protest as you continue piloting her towards the house.

Once Sasha's needs are taken care of, the two of you explore your old house, which proves to be a more distressing experience than you realized it would be. The rooms are all furnished differently and changed right down to the paint and carpet, and only the underlying floor plan is the same. You can't even close your eyes and pretend it's all like it used to be... the new owners favor a kind of sickly potpourri that permeates the walls. It's as if your family has been exorcized. Sasha wants to snoop through the new owners' library, so you leave her downstairs while you go upstairs. Your room belongs to a little boy now; Matty's room is a guest room. All of your possessions were sold at auction, and a great many of them must have made their way underground, like your old radio did... It's funny that if you went back to the apartment Sans rented, you'd find more evidence that your family once existed than there is in the home where you spent your childhood. What exactly were you hoping for? The warm sense of connection you felt in the garden can't be found in this building. It's the opposite, you feel all the more alienated from the past here, all the more --

An out of tune chord comes from downstairs, and you freeze. Is that...? Another chord. It is! It's your mother's guitar. As you're rushing downstairs, you hear your friends' voices.

"... so dreadfully out of tune!" Adaleia is saying.

"Look around for the pitch pipe, it's this little funny looking thing with holes in it..." Sasha says.

"Found it!" Ionathia chirps as you join them.

"Oh, let me," you beg, putting your hands out for the pitch pipe and guitar. You tune the instrument, then give it an experimental strum. 

Sasha claps her hands. "It sounds perfect! Can you play something for me?"

"Sure, but, uh... let's go outside."

The four of you proceed back out to the garden, where you arrange yourself on a bench and run your fingers over the strings. Your mother and father had both played classical guitar, and this one once belonged to her, with a small floral design inlaid in mother-of-pearl. How lucky that the house's current owners still have it! You didn't love music the way she loved music, and your guitar skills weren't ever anywhere near hers, but you're beaming as you try out a few chords, then pick out a basic tune. Sasha beams too, while Ionathia oohs and aahs as if you've concluded a virtuoso performance. 

You laugh away your embarrassment. "Stop it! I'm so rusty."

"You're terrible compared to your parents," Adaleia pronounces, "but there's no shame in that."

"I haven't touched a guitar since I left the surface," you admit, strumming another chord. "I could barely even sing in the shower for ages without, uh, without remembering all this. I, um... I couldn't concentrate, you know?" You'd even struck out spectacularly at an audition to sing at a nightclub, back before Louie took you in. You'll never forget standing on stage, looking out at skeptical faces, completely unable to make any sound at all. But here in the garden everything seems so easy, so right... 

A long-lost memory comes to mind. You'd been very young, perhaps five or six, and you and your brother had snuck out of bed and made your way outside where you'd found your parents playing duets and talking in low voices. Matty hadn't been able to resist joining in one of the songs, and you'd feared you'd be scolded but instead your parents, often so distant when you were that age, laughed at their children's cleverness. Your father had taken you into his lap while your mother showered your brother with kisses, and they'd sung songs for you well past your bedtime... 

You smile as your fingers fumble through another traditional Courtyard song and your companions praise you. Look at you, you could be an illustration from a fairy tale, wearing your beautiful dress and relaxing in a sunny garden with your mother's guitar in your lap... What if Sans could see you now? How charmed he would be, how surprised to see this hidden side of you. You imagine him leaning against a tree and gazing at you, the lights in his eyes softening as he realized how much more there is to you than your willingness to have sex for money...

"Do you remember the song we sang at that party?" Sasha suggests. You remember it well enough to play the melody, but not the words; the two of you mumble through the last couple of verses and end the song dissolved in giggles.

"How about 'The Little Bluebird'?" Ionathia suggests. It's a classic Courtyard folk song, and it comes easily to you. Jerren likes this one, you remember, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. He'd overheard you whistling it once, and that's what prompted him giving you that horrible nickname. 'Chickie,' of all the ridiculous things... You quickly segue into another song, "The Last Navigator," about a sailor who'd been lost at sea when the clouds descended over the stars, blotting them out forever. Theodora had liked this one... When she was in one of her low moods, she'd come find you to be petted and read to or sung to, as if you were her mom. She was so reticent that many people were under the impression that she was unable to speak; even with you and Matty she barely ever said a word. You were so sheltered, and she kept her troubles to herself to such a degree that you didn't realize until too late how badly she was being abused... She's beyond it all now, the poor girl. You idly strum the strings, letting your mind wander over the past... The next song you sing reminds you of creating a secret hideout in the grove near your house with Theodora and Matty, your quiet friend cheerfully piling up sticks, wearing boys' clothes and the fussy sausage curls she destested... Another reminds you of sewing with Adaleia and Ionathia, reading to them and singing while Adaleia worked small, neat stitches, grumbling the whole time, and Ionathia never hemmed a single straight line... And another reminds you of visiting the stables with Jerren, feeding his favorite horse apples...

All these memories are starting to make your mind feel crowded again, and you put the guitar down, sighing and stretching your arms. Sasha and your friends clap for you. "Bravo! Bravo!" Ionathia chirps, clapping and bouncing up and down.

"Think they'd mind if we just took it?" Sasha suggests, gesturing at the guitar.

"We couldn't!" you say, although you look at it with regret. "They'd call us thieves... and it'd reflect badly on Jerren..."

"He could pay them back," Sasha grumbles.

Adaleia looks uncomfortable as she says "Things do sometimes just go missing, after all..."

"They might be persuaded to sell it," Ionathia suggests. 

"We can settle the matter later," Adaleia says. "For now, our time is nearly up. Shall we visit the gravesite one last time? I'd like to pay my respects to that silly brother of yours."

For most of your childhood, Adaleia had referred to Matty as 'your stupid brother,' but after she'd fallen in love with him, she softened it to 'your silly brother.' He had been too good-humored to take offense at either epithet, but he'd been oblivious enough not to realize what produced the change.

Sasha wants to spend a little more time in the garden, and Ionathia volunteers to stay with her; both of them seem equally weary of all this wandering and indulging in nostalgia. You and Adaleia make your way through the garden to the gravesite. The door to the walled garden is ajar; Adaleia pokes her head in, then draws it back out, making as if she'll close the door. "I'm sorry," she calls. "We'll come back once you're done."

"No, no, I'm sorry to bother you," Jerren says from inside. "I'll be on my way." Adaleia steps aside as he leaves the garden and faces the two of you. "Just paying my respects," he murmurs. "I admit I wasn't particularly close to your parents, but Mattias was a good man."

"He was just eighteen. That's a boy still," Adaleia says acerbically.

"In my books, he was a man, and an exceptional one," Jerren says, shaking his head.

"Going off half-cocked and getting himself shot over a petty insult was exceptional? Exceptionally stupid, perhaps," Adaleia retorts. 

"No, he was exceptional because he was true to what he believed was right. Life presents men with a million ways in which we can fall short of our ideals, so I admire someone who risked everything and suffered for them. Our beliefs and our actions are all that make us what we are, and we don't truly know whether either will withstand a challenge until we are met with it. He was pushed to his limits..."

"And we saw his true character," you murmur.

Jerren looks inordinately pleased. "You remembered."

"That doesn't mean I agree," you shoot back. "What that man said about my mother, it was just words. It was immoral of Matty to care so much about -- about intangible ideas of honor and virtue, when we needed him. If he'd lived, maybe he could have persuaded people to help, maybe he could have found a job underground, maybe --" Maybe your father wouldn't have committed suicide if he'd had his son to lean on. Maybe you weren't enough. It's a thought you've had many, many times before, but each time it feels like a punch in the gut. You fall silent.

"I can understand that," Jerren says gently. "Forgive me, I'm thinking about it far too abstractly. I miss him too." 

There's an awkward silence. Why did you tell this man all that? You feel embarrassed, realizing you're touching on a subject that's far too personal. And yet, you realize as you glance at Jerren, you owe this whole experience to him. That feeling of being reborn, the sense of finality you had from walking through your old home, the happy memories you remembered in the garden with your sister and friends... none of it could have happened without him. You still don't know why, or what he wants from you... but you should at least thank him. 

Jerren continues "You have about a half hour left. We'll meet back in front of the house." He bows and turns to leave, and Adaleia slips into the garden.

"Jerren?" you call.

He turns back to look at you, a touch of surprise in his expression.

"Thank you for doing all this. I've missed them so, and... My soul feels better."

He smiles. "That's all I wanted." He bows his head, then turns back toward the garden.

You watch him go, feeling unsettled. Sasha reported that he once loved you, or at least used to believe that he loved you... and that, perhaps, he has some lingering affection for you still. Somehow, right now, you can believe it. He has a lot to atone for, but this certainly goes a long way to soften your heart towards him... You won't forgive him, exactly, you caution yourself. You can't trust him. You can certainly never love him. But perhaps you can let go of your resentment, and graciously receive this incredible gift he's giving you.

Why you? Why now?

Doubts continue to needle you as you join Adaleia in the walled garden. She's kneeling in front of the grave marker. About where you wiped the bird poop, you think with chagrin. As you join her, you see she's holding the pictures you drew.

"I thought you said you’d stopped drawing?" she asks, brandishing them at you.

"Uh, well, a lot has happened lately..."

"In the past week?"

"It was more like ten days ago, right?"

She gives you a funny look. For you, those ten days have each been momentous— the day Sans gave you the book and colored pencils! the day he showed you your soul! the day he got your purse back! the day he called you his girl! But unless she’s been indulging in her own torrid love affair, which you rather doubt, it's probably been just been a normal week and a half.

"Well, I'm happy to see you're back to it," she says, arranging them back around the grave marker. "They'd be happy too, I'm sure. It's good to see you seeming a little more like yourself."

"I barely feel like myself at all. It's more like I'm in a fairy tale." And eventually, in a fairy tale, the bill always comes due, that stubborn voice inside you warns you.

"I suppose we have Prince Charming to thank for that...” She’s usually a fan of Jerren’s, but she says this with surprising acerbity, and you raise your eyebrows. She grimaces as she explains, "He told us how he tried to take advantage of you."

"Oh..."

"He sure is lucky Matty wasn't around. Prince or no prince, your brother would have buried him alive."

You can't help but smile. "He would have tried, anyway.”

"I very nearly did it myself," she says, scowling. "I told him that he was a backstabbing rat. To his credit, he agreed and even suggested some other names I could call him. So I did, then I felt better.” She frowns. “I’m astonished you let him bring you here. I thought you were sensible.”

"Uh, well... he did apologize," you say weakly. "He hasn't tried to excuse what he's done, or act as if it never happened. And... well, I didn’t agree to come here, at first. Actually I told him to shove it.”

Adaleia looks at you with astonishment, then howls with laughter. “Oh, what I wouldn’t have given to see that!"

"I guess he really does know how to push my buttons..."

"That's for sure. First that party, which I deeply regret not being invited to, now this... Well, I can't say I blame you. God knows I couldn't have got you in here," she says with a shrug.

"Exactly, this was my only chance. After I realized what I'd given up, I regretted it, and... well, here I am. I’m not saying I’ve forgiven him, but I really do think he’s been trying to do the right thing..."

Adaleia grimaces. "I can appreciate that. I’d say I wish you'd told us, but I see why you didn’t. I wouldn’t have, either. The strange thing is, I can't help but like him, even still. I suppose women really are suckers for a reformed rake.”

"I suppose," you murmur.

"Ionathia has completely forgiven him already," she continues, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "He said he wouldn't insult my intelligence by asking me to do the same, but hoped I'd judge his sincerity by his actions. And it is true, this is quite a gesture."

"I've felt like my family has been haunting me for years," you say slowly. "But today I feel reborn. I'm grateful to him for that."

"I understand. And I won't let loose on him again unless he does something to deserve it." She narrows her eyes. "I'll be watching that man, though."

There's silence for a few minutes as the two of you pay your respects. She puts her hand on your shoulder. "I want you to know something, and I know it's self-serving of me to say this and I don't expect it to improve your opinion of me, but I'm going to say it anyway."

"All right," you say, raising your eyebrows.

"I tried to help you and Sasha. I had dreadful fights with my parents, trying to get them to let you stay with us, or for them to talk to their contacts underground, or to let me stay in touch with you once you'd gone down, or anything. My father finally screamed, if their fate worries you so much, pack a bag and go share it. It's the greatest regret of my life that I didn't."

You look down, touched by this. "Three ignorant idiots roaming the underground wouldn't have been much of an improvement over two," you say lightly. "Things worked out for us, Addy. You don't have to keep punishing yourself."

"I know, but... I kept remembering what you told me after you made such a scene at Jerren's party, that sometimes you only get one chance to do the right thing. I didn't understand then, but I do now. I just wanted you to know that."

"Thank you."

The two of you are quiet for a few more minutes, as she bows her head and you run your fingers over the grave marker.

Adaleia turns to you. "I’ll keep taking care of this garden. And I’ll never forget Matty.”

"He would have wanted you to be happy," you say gently, squeezing her hand.

"Happiness is overrated," she says with a sharp laugh. "I prefer to be right." She stands up, brushing herself off. A quick glance at her skirt reveals no bird poop -- whew. "We’d better go. The family will be back soon."

"One last thing..." You take your sketchbook from your purse and lay a page on the grave marker to create a rubbing of the words. Then you collect a leaf from each tree, tucking them in your sketchbook to press later. You stand up and take one last look at the garden, fixing it in your mind. "Thank you," you whisper, bowing your head as you bid farewell to your family.

You're somber as you walk alongside Adaleia, who seems a little antsy. "I do hope Jerren knows what he's about. It would be dreadfully awkward if those numbskulls got back early."

You murmur agreement, but your mind is whisked onto another path; her choice of words to describe the family currently occupying your old home reminded you of Sans. What’s he doing right now? You can’t help but wonder as you make your way through the garden. He’s down somewhere under your feet, tracking someone down maybe? Running liquor? Having lunch with some hard-boiled types? Sleeping, maybe, if he does a lot of work at night. Your mind drifts off, imagining him sleeping next to you, maybe spooning with you— maybe that would feel strange at first, his pelvis pressed up against your ass, his rib cage on your back, but you could get used to it... 

"It’s a shame you have to leave your old home so soon, though," Adaleia cuts into these pleasing thoughts. 

"Uh, you know, honestly I think I’ve seen what I need to see," you answer as you reach the carriage. Jerren, Sasha and Ionathia are waiting in front of it, while Jerren's bodyguard is in his car. "I appreciated having all that time at the gravesite, and I spent as much time in the house as I wanted to. I guess I’m about ready to go back down now...”

"Well -- " Ionathia starts weakly, glancing at Jerren.

Jerren doesn't seem to notice that she's said anything. "Excellent timing," he says, offering you his hand to help you into the carriage. Why do these carriages have to be so darn hard to climb into? You hesitate before taking it, and let go quickly. He doesn't seem to notice that, either. "We'll be gone well before the family and servants return."

After five hours bathing in memories and receiving absolution, you feel drained, but also peaceful. Sasha, sitting next to you, leans up against you. As the carriage starts moving, Ionathia takes your hand, placing her hand over yours. Adaleia pats Sasha's knee awkwardly. In the face of your grief, they don't know what to say, which is fine with you - you don't know what to say either.

"So... back to the Concourse, huh," you say weakly.

"We're gonna have lunch first," Sasha murmurs.

"Lunch?" You're so shaken up you don't know how you could even think about eating.

"I'm starving..." She grins. "That's good, right? I haven't been that active in months, I can't remember the last time I was this hungry. It feels great."

"What about your afternoon medicine?"

"Jerren's got it. He's going to give it to me."

You frown. "Since when can Jerren give people shots?"

"I was surprised too, but he's good at it! He did it yesterday, to prove to the doctor I didn't need a nurse to come with us."

"A man of hidden talents, indeed," Adaleia says with grudging approval.

"A poet, and a horseman, and an actor, and --"

You cut off Ionathia's praise. "Well, if we don't have to go back just yet, Sasha, I guess there's no reason we can't find you a little something to eat. I'm not at all hungry, though..."

"No? Then I guess I'll have to eat all the spinach pies myself," Adaleia says with an arch grin.

"And I thought you might enjoy a little chocolate-cherry cake... but if you'd prefer just to watch _us_ eat it all, far be it from me to force any on you..." Ionathia says innocently.

Spinach pies and chocolate-cherry cake? Your favorites. You swallow as you start to salivate. You had been too on edge to eat this morning, and now you're realizing you could choke down a spinach pie or two... or maybe a dozen, if they're the cute triangle kind with pine nuts that Adaleia's family's cook makes. "Uh, well... maybe I could eat a little..."

"That's more like it," Adaleia says. "After a morning like that, you're going to collapse if you keep pushing yourself. And you are bound and determined not to notice that that man is still interested in you, so you certainly don't want to faint around him and look endearingly vulnerable."

You groan. "Point taken. I'll have some lunch."

Sasha leans up against you, thoughtful and subdued, and you put your arm around her. None of you seem all that interested in small talk, so you pass the time looking out the window of the carriage. Now that it's later in the day, the Courtyard is more active, but Jerren again seems to be taking back roads. You suppose that's to attract less attention... although he could have chosen a less flashy carriage, if that was his aim. How strange it is to have someone like him playing chauffeur and tour guide, when he could be spending his time any way he wishes. And how did he possibly manage to empty out the estate, just so you could indulge in memories without being observed or forced to make tedious conversation with the current owners of the property? All the more, it is feeling like his motivations are just as he claims they are: that he regrets his earlier treatment of you, and is trying to make amends.

Whatever reasons he might have for doing this, he's making you feel like a princess, as if you're living a fairy tale. Yet although you've agreed to have a quick lunch, now that you've done what you've came for you can't help wishing you were back underground... back with Sans, if you're being honest, day off or not. Although you can hardly say he makes you feel like a princess. When you're with him, you feel relaxed, sensual, playful, safe... but you're always conscious that you're on the clock, that everything you do is a fantasy for his benefit. 

You're aware that this experience in the Courtyard is all a fantasy for your benefit, and yet your guard is up, you'll breathe easier when you're back underground... How wonderful it would be if Sans ever made half this effort to please you! But why would he, you think, suddenly crestfallen. All he needs to do to get what he wants is throw money at you.

Just your luck. The man you distrust is pulling out all the stops for you, while the man who's on your mind probably hasn't thought of you all day. But somehow, right now, neither of them feel all that important. After this morning, your mind is free and your soul is healed. Whatever happens with Sans or Jerren, nothing can take that memory away from you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. When I started writing APJFM, all I wanted to do was write Sans smut that felt emotionally right to me. More than once while writing 24 and 25, I thought to myself, how did I ever wind up in this kind of psychological territory? Well, I don't really know how, but I'm glad I did. Reader and Sasha sure needed that.
> 
> With only a few days between chapters, that was the shortest wait ever between APFJM chapters! Don't expect it to happen again -- it's just because I want to start posting on weekends.
> 
> And so the fondest wish of Reader's heart has been granted, and it brought her just what she hoped it would. Now, join her next week for lunch with Sasha, her friends, and everyone’s favorite reformed rake.
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me!
> 
> My tumblr is at [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's a calendar to chapter 25 (to be added later).


	26. a philosophy of life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171218206920/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

You soon reach a small picnic shelter near the palace gardens, not too far from the edge of the surface. You've been here before; Jerren had talked you into an outing to see his favorite horse, which had somehow turned into a ride in his gig, then lunch here. It feels like it happened a century ago. Ionathia and Adaleia, not knowing how to talk about the experience they've just played a small part in, seem relieved to have new topics of conversation: how charming the little shelter is, how glorious the palace gardens are in fall, how very daring Jerren is for bringing you and Sasha here. They don't actually need you and Sasha to participate as they chatter at each other, bringing food from the carriage over to one of the picnic tables.

"Here, Sasha, let's get this over with," Jerren says, washing his hands thoroughly at a sink in the picnic shelter. You pilot her over to him, and she grumbles as she pushes up her sleeve and holds out her arm. Jerren prepares the syringe, then wipes down the crook of her elbow and performs the injection. You hold your breath, expecting him to screw it up, but it goes as smoothly as if he was a trained nurse. "There," he says, putting a bandage on the spot. "Now you're free until tonight."

"I barely even felt it... Where did you learn to do that?" Sasha asks.

He grins. "I did tell you, I'm a lot more useful than you give me credit for. Now, let's go see what those two prepared for us."

Ionathia sits down, busying herself with arranging the food as Adaleia sets it out, and before long you're sitting at a picnic table filled with all of your favorite things. You look it over, your eyes wide. "This is... I can't believe how good this all looks," you breathe. Spinach pies... stuffed grape leaves... bacon-wrapped sausages and little stuffed meatballs for the benefit of your carnivore sister... a cheese and nut platter and a dozen little appetizers, your favorite foods skewered and layered and arranged in the cutest ways... adorable little sandwiches and colorful salads... And peach wine to drink, the peach wine that Adaleia's mother makes. It’s alcoholic, but rather mild, unlike the echo wine whose effects you still remember vividly, and it always felt like such a grown-up treat to have at picnics with your friends. It wouldn't do to overindulge, of course, you caution yourself... But just a little won't hurt.

"All your favorites, of course,” Adaleia says proudly. “We can’t have our guests of honor thinking us perfect barbarians.” Ionathia smiles wanly, perhaps a little tired of her friend’s humor.

"Now this is truly heavenly," Jerren pronounces. "Delicious food, a beautiful fall day and the most charming company a man could ask for. I could never tire of days like this, even if I lived forever.” He's sitting across from you, with Ionathia next to you and Adaleia next to him; Sasha's wheelchair is pulled up to the head of the table. This is, perhaps, a little more cozy than you're comfortable with... but it's just lunch, there's no harm in having lunch and a little bit of pleasant conversation, with your sister, your friends and this man who's done you such an incredible favor. He _is_ good company, excellent company really, when he’s making an effort to be pleasing... and you'll be back underground soon enough.

Jerren falls into conversation with Ionathia and Adaleia; Sasha prepares herself a pile of food that is much, much more than she can actually probably eat, but it seems to make her cheerful. You're still feeling subdued, some piece of your own soul still lingering in the walled garden, but the pleasant day, the good food and your friends’ chatter are all slowly bringing you back to reality. Is reality quite the right term? There was a fairytale where the girl had only to ask, and her table would fill with her favorite foods. Faced with a picnic table piled with your favorite foods, you feel as if you’ve stumbled into a fairytale yourself. 

The food is so incredibly good, you could almost forget about the incredible expense involved in producing it, transporting it, preparing it and bringing it to this beautiful garden. Yes, why don't you forget? After so many blows, why not accept this unbelievable stroke of good luck? Everything will be back to normal tomorrow, so for now, you’ll enjoy your favorite foods, resplendent in a fairytale gown, the sun shining on your skin. You reach for another stuffed grape leaf.

Bathed in sunlight, your soul feeling clean, it's easy to feel optimistic. Sasha's going to get well, you know it. How could she not, with the miracle cure and the very best of care? Look at her now, laughing and nibbling at that ridiculous pile of her favorite foods, not a care in the world. Maybe it'll still be some time before she can go back underground, but it will happen. This time next year she'll be healthier than she was even before she got sick -- you're as certain of that as you once were that she was marked for death. And then what?

Ah, now that's an absorbing question. Ionathia refills your peach wine and you sip it without even thanking her, lost in thought. For the longest time, you've thought of your past self as somehow separate from the woman you became underground -- as if her life ended when she stepped into the aerial tram for the first time, and after that her memories felt like a story you'd once read in a book... or a nightmare that kept haunting you every time you fell asleep. It had been impossible to think about your past and family with any joy, given that in the end, they became the source of your biggest trauma. You'd both desperately wished to go back to your old life and resented it, wishing you'd been born underground instead of having to constantly carry all this resentment and anxiety. So it had been easier to try to forget all of it, and to squelch that part of yourself down as far as it could go.

But now... Feeling peaceful, nourished in body and soul and content, you re-evaluate your own life. Perhaps, instead of thinking of yourself as having a past that's dead, you might think of yourself as more of an actress. Once upon a time, you played a role here in the Courtyard, where you were a carefree, artistic girl surrounded by family and friends. And how lucky you were, to have loving family and friends, to never know need or hardship, to grow up surrounded by beauty and opportunity. The run of that particular play stopped, and now you're acting in a new one, where you're working hard to pay the bills, take care of your sister and trying to find joy, all while protecting your secrets. But you exist beyond those roles, as the actress who learned something from both of them and can bring her own experiences and vision to whatever she does.

You must admit it's a pleasure to reprise your old role for the day. You've visited your family, you've explored your old home, you've relaxed and played music with your friends and now you're having a picnic with all your favorite foods and... well, three of your favorite people. But for all you once longed to be back, for all you once resented your exile and everyone connected with it... now that you're actually back, it seems to confirm all the more that this role is no longer suited to you. You feel stifled here, anxious about gossip and unpleasantness, nostalgic for something you could no longer have even if you lived up here. Jerren is orchestrating this all, but you know damn well how it would have felt if people had been around.

Your new role suits you better, you realize with a little shock. Yes, the underground can be dreary and hard to navigate, but it has its charms too, and you have so much more freedom and self-direction. Being underground has taught you self-sufficiency, guile, poise, and wisdom - at least, you’d like to think you’d acquired a little wisdom here and there. Yes, you paid a high price for a lot your experiences, you could do without some of those memories, but you can still honor all the ways in which your life has made you a better woman. And wow, is it hard to envision Sasha up here. Just imagining trying to curb her spirit and independence long enough to train her to be a lady makes you cringe.

Your new insight about feeling like an actress really makes sense to you. That's how you've always felt since going underground, as if you're playing a part, and it's subtly separated you from everyone around you -- from Louis and Marie, from your co-workers at your secretary job, from your boyfriends, from your friends at the dance hall and the soup kitchen, from your neighbors, even sometimes from Sasha. Really, you can only think of one person who makes you feel comfortable, who makes you forget your past trauma and present worries, who you feel simply yourself around, and that’s...

Sans.

You chuckle. Adaleia makes a move as if to talk to you, but Jerren waves her off. Lost in thought, you don't even notice.

With Sans, huh? Isn't that ironic? He’s literally hired you to play a part, and all he really knows of you is the version of yourself that you present to him as the perfect mistress. For the kind of money he's paying you, you can, for the short term, rid yourself of inconvenient emotions and needs... and you can make a connection with someone that's not based on shared values or interests, but on sheer chemistry. Isn't it a paradox that when you're intentionally hiding parts of yourself, you're also able to let go, to forget the things that stress you out, to just enjoy being with someone in a way you haven't been able to do for years?

None of this would have happened without Sans... his buying you set off a chain of events that led to this lunch in the sunshine. But here in paradise, you find yourself thinking wistfully of a cozy evening with him as the rain falls outside, bantering, exploring each other's bodies, relaxing together. 

Do you love him? You turn the thought over in your mind, trying it on, savoring it. That word feels too strong, still. Love is cherishing another person whole-heartedly, it's prioritizing their needs and feelings and resting secure in the knowledge that they cherish and value you in the same way. Love is what you feel for Sasha, it's what you felt for your mother and father and Matty. It's a commitment... it resides not just in your heart but deeper than that, deep in your blood and your thoughts, expressing itself daily in your actions and words. No one could easily be allowed to join that sacred space, certainly not a man who you don't truly know and who explicitly owes you no commitment whatsoever.

But romantic love doesn't start out as such a serious commitment. It takes time to develop such a bond, to share experiences, pain and joy. That leaves a space where all the littler words -- crush, infatuation, captivation -- seem too weak, and 'love' is forced to do double duty, both as the word that describes what you feel for the people you're most devoted to and the word that expresses your feelings for a person who your heart feels irresistibly pulled towards, whose attention fills you with fluttering joy and who makes you feel like the best, purest, most real version of yourself.

In that sense... yes, you do think you love Sans. You love him, knowing full well all the reasons you should be more sensible.

When did your attraction, your crush, expand into love? In the rush of gratitude you'd felt when he retrieved your handbag? When he'd created that crossword just for you? When he'd revealed his insecurities and fears to you?

You're his girl, you think with a small thrill of delight. And even if it’s all a game now, there's no reason it has to stay that way forever. You've known the man all of three weeks, and already you've gone from being the human he asked to leave after sex to being -- oh, those two syllables again -- his girl...

This situation might break your heart... So many things could go wrong, as you've reminded yourself several times. He could end the deal tomorrow. He could always see you as nothing more than an expensive, pleasing toy. He could discover your identity and decide you're too much of a liability, or resent you for your background.

But he could fall in love with you, too. Why shouldn't he? He likes you... He's attracted to you... You spend a lot of time together... You wouldn't be the first human-monster couple in the city... 

Sasha's voice intrudes on your thoughts. Not the real Sasha's voice; she's engaged in some debate with Adaleia. No, you're remembering Sasha tugging on an imaginary collar, implying that you're only captivated by Stepstool Man because the sex is good, and you're willfully ignoring the parts of him that are less than ideal. And you must admit, there's some serious warning signs. He kills people as part of his work -- and if that book is to believed, he does it rather cavalierly. Sure, they're people involved in the New Ebott criminal underground, people whose own hands are dirty, and he claims that he tries to act in an ethical way...but that's still jarring. How can you be sure he's never crossed a line and killed someone innocent? Can he really be trusted never to abuse you? He clearly has a long history of soliciting prostitutes; has he ever had a relationship with a woman he hasn't been paying? That would seem to make him a riskier bet as a serious romantic partner... although, God knows there are enough people who'd say exactly the same thing about you for being a prostitute in the first place. And just as you're concealing parts of yourself, he almost certainly is too. Although he offered you a deal, not a proposal, this is still the honeymoon period where you're both fascinated by each other, where you both want to impress each other...

Are you deluding yourself, when you think you have a decent idea of his true character? When you think that perhaps what you have together could be real, not just a fantasy? You could be so wrong... you could be completely mistaken about what kind of person he is, or there could be no future there whatsoever, he might always just see you as the call girl who showed up at his hotel room one night...

But you can't help but feel like someone like him -- someone who's known tragedy, someone who lives such an unconventional life, someone who's clearly thoughtful and has a softer side -- might someday be able to understand what it's meant to live the life you've led. Perhaps he could see you in all the roles you've played... the child of privilege, the traitor's daughter, the harried secretary, the substitute mother, the call girl... and accept and love the woman who's at the core of each one.

A warm glow spreads through your belly as you picture Sans confessing his feelings to you, pledging to love and protect you forever, ending this arrangement and starting a new one with a ring on your finger... 

Perhaps that day may be a long ways off... perhaps it might never happen... but it isn't impossible. No, here in the glow of your new-found optimism, it seems very possible indeed.

What other roles do you want to play? Your mind wanders away from Sans, back to your other concerns. Your current role definitely has an expiration date... Since you wound up in this arrangement with Sans, you're intent on making the most of it— and enjoying it, you have to admit. But the fact is that being someone's mistress is just not what you want out of life, even if you do rather feel like you’ve fallen in love with the guy. And even if you were content in that position forever, you can’t bet your future -- much less Sasha's future -- on a position that's so powerless and fleeting. So what are you going to do to support yourself?

You could always go back to being a secretary. Ugh, you think with a grimace. But perhaps it'd be more interesting at a different company? At one of the big corps, perhaps. You'd avoided them, worried about your identity being revealed, or that your forged identity papers might not pass the more rigorous background checks. You'd judged it safer to remain in your stable job, to grind it out for now. But this seems like a good place for a change...

... Who are you kidding, being a secretary was lousy. Your eyes light up as a better idea comes to you. You can draw again. After years of creative block, you can sketch, you can produce things instead of staring at a blank page, too mired in regret to draw... You're rusty, sure, but you can get back in the habit of warming up. There's plenty of demand for good illustrators underground, and with no obligations besides visiting Sasha and screwing Sans senseless, now is the perfect time to retrain your eye, build a portfolio, start sending out samples of your work...

Oh yes, this is a much better daydream than finding another secretary job. You smile as you envision your illustrations all over New Ebott. Nearly every home underground, no matter how poor, has illustrations of fanciful Courtyard gardens tacked up on the walls, and they could be yours, yes, your art could dot walls from one corner of New Ebott to the other... You imagine passing a newsstand with your illustrations on every cover, ranging from doe-eyed ingenues to alien princesses with blasters to soaring skyscrapers... Children reading books you've illustrated... young women sighing for the clothes you design... harried pedestrians smiling as they pass the murals you paint, their eyes caught by your advertisements... In your daydreams, your art blankets New Ebott, bringing joy to a city that can, at times, succumb to dreariness. You might teach art, perhaps, guiding childrens' hands as they sketch arrangements of flowers and fruit, or examining charcoal drawings of figure models at... dare you think it? At Arbor University. Or you could even create a book of puzzles! You loved making that maze for Sans.

Yes... that's exactly it. Then, independent of whatever happens with Sans, you'll have your own income. If he does drop you -- a pang goes through your heart, but you have to admit it's always a possibility -- you and Sasha are still taken care of... and if, perhaps, he believes you only like him for his money, then once you're comfortable you can prove to him that he's wrong. And even if your identity is ever revealed, you won't just be the traitor's daughter, you'll be well-known in your own right.

What a lovely plan! Your fingers itch to start drawing right now. With so much free time, and with such a great little apartment to use as a studio, you can start working on your portfolio immediately. And then, maybe by the time Sasha is ready to come back underground, you can move out of your old apartment, closer to a better school where she'll be challenged and maybe find some good friends... Well, doing all that on an illustrator's salary might be a little ambitious, at first, but now is not the time to let petty reality interfere with your castles in the sky. No, you'll be the most popular artist in New Ebott, and until your earnings are enough to support your dreams there's nothing saying you can't hide your liasons with Sans from Sasha for a while yet... oh, there are so many advantages to a man who can teleport... 

Your mind hums with pleasure. It all seems so orderly, now. Sasha in one basket; an illustration career in another; Sans in a third. If things work out, you can set Sasha on the path to realizing her own dreams, you can find satisfaction and renumeration in illustration work, and you can forge a new relationship with Sans. You could be his girl for real! Maybe he'd scale back his freelancing, even quit... settle down and find respectable work. Maybe that would satisfy Sasha, if she didn't think of him as a gangster, maybe she'd like him, you're sure she would if she gave him a chance... Everything falls into place beautifully in your daydreams. A house in one of the monster districts maybe? What are the schools like there, anyway? Would Sasha like that? Would Sans introduce you to his monster friends? Dinner with -- what were their names again? You'll have to ask him... Maybe if he wasn't so notorious in the human world, he could take you out dancing... Maybe you could have a proper wedding... Your mind spins out all sorts of pleasant fantasies of Sans standing at the altar, the dots of light in his eyes bright as he beholds you in white lace preparing to pledge your heart to him, Sasha to the side with a bouquet of flowers, looking sour -- oh, stop that Sasha, he's not a gangster anymore in this daydream -- looking happy for you. Do monsters even get married, or do they have their own customs? Maybe you'll find out...

You take a sip of your peach wine, smiling to yourself. Oh, you feel so good, with the sunshine and the good food and drink and the feeling of peace, the feeling that your loved ones are pleased with you, the future is bright and perhaps from now on everything is going to be so much better...

"... Sasha, your soul's color is almost certainly red," Jerren is saying.

You perk up immediately, your train of thought jumping tracks to the conversation in progress.

"What does that mean?" Sasha asks.

"Determination. Tell me that doesn't fit," he says with a grin.

"Sure it fits," she says, laughing. "I'm still here, aren't I? Stupid whitepox can go to hell."

Ionathia and Adaleia look scandalized at such language coming from a young lady, but Jerren just laughs. "See? There's no question I'm right. I think I've formed a clear sense of your character by now, and your willpower and persistence come through quite clearly even when you're stuck in that hospital bed." 

She beams. "Just wait until I'm out of it."

He smiles and takes a drink of his peach wine, then turns to Ionathia. "Now, as for you..." He studies her, and she looks abashed by the directness of his gaze. "Green, I think. For kindness. You're a very softhearted woman, I've noticed."

"Ah, well, I suppose," she answers, suddenly very interested in her food.

"That makes perfect sense," Adaleia muses. "She's a bleeding-heart through and through, and the most gullible person I've ever met."

"I would have said gentle and empathetic, myself," Jerren says with a grin. "And nurturing, of course."

"Such a flatterer you are," Ionathia murmurs, but she's smiling widely, especially at the last adjective.

"I observe, that's all. And what about you?" He turns to Adaleia.

"You can hardly say all those nice things about me," she says, rolling her eyes. 

"Yeah, is there a soul color for being prickly?" Sasha chimes in.

"No, but there is one for integrity."

"Integrity?" Adaleia scoffs. "You _are_ a flatterer."

"I base my judgment on the unflinching directness you favor us all with. The truth has not made you popular. You're an intelligent woman, you'd be well able to say what people want to hear if you so chose. Yet you persist in saying exactly what you think. With you there is no question of where you stand. So yes, integrity."

Adaleia waves the comment off as if unconcerned, but she can't help but smile. "I rather think this talk of soul color is simply a pretense to deliver compliments. So let's be done with me and see what the reformed rake has to say to his guest of honor."

You feel your cheeks getting hot. "I, uh... I'm not so sure I should like to be analyzed..."

"Aw, come on," Sasha says, grinning. "It's just for fun!"

"Yes, _do_ let him tell you," Ionathia says gleefully.

"We shall see if we all agree with the Courtyard's foremost student of human nature," Adaleia chimes in.

You take a deep breath, feeling decidedly outnumbered. "Well, uh... all right..."

Jerren looks thoughtfully at you. "Your soul's green, too. I'd bet my best horse on it."

You only just barely manage not to say "How'd you know?" Covering up your discomfort, you take a sip of peach wine before saying "Green, huh..."

"Like mine!" Ionathia says, hugging you. "We are, of course, both _very_ good-natured."

"Are you quite sure you're right? I had been thinking she might have a red soul, myself. She's nice and all, but to survive underground must have taken a great deal of determination," Adaleia comments.

"That's for sure," you mumble.

"Well, of course I can't know for certain. But when trying to determine soul color without actually seeing the soul, I find it useful to consider the opposite of the trait," Jerren replies. "For example, as a determination soul myself, I find it hard to envision a situation in which I might give up on something when I can clearly see -- or make -- a path towards getting what I want. Reluctance and indecisiveness are both foreign to my nature."

"Some might call it prudence, or wisdom, to know your own limits," you point out.

He smiles as if you've just proven his point. "You see? That's how I know your soul isn't red. You certainly have your fair share of determination, but you can also see the merit, in some situations, of giving up. But me..." He shakes his head. "I know no limits."

"That's not a virtue."

This reply, too, seems to please him. "You're quite right. It can be easy to fall into the trap of believing your soul color paints you as being strong in one particular virtue. But it's more accurate to say it indicates the most intense aspect of your character. If we were not so given to flattering ourselves, we would understand soul colors in a more holistic way, and see that instead of being descriptions of virtues, they are more like signs that point to both our strengths and weaknesses."

"I'm lost," Sasha complains.

"I think I get it," Adaleia says. "Someone who's persistent might be obsessive or obnoxious, and someone who's patient might be too slow to act, and miss an opportunity."

"Someone whose trait is integrity might see the world in a black-and-white way, or be judgmental," you add. 

Adaleia raises her glass. "Guilty," she says wryly before taking a drink, and the group laughs. You'd been thinking of Sans, though... Are those traits, the flip side of integrity, found in him? You can't really say you know him well enough yet to understand how he thinks.

"Those of us who are kind might also be too passive," Ionathia says slowly.

"Or an easy mark," Sasha says, poking your shoulder. "Sound like anyone you know?" You grumble and glare at her. "She once gave a total stranger bus fare out of New Ebott because she was crying about how she wanted to see her dying mother just one more time," Sasha continues with glee. "Then we saw the same girl the very next week. Different place, but still crying about her mother."

"I don't regret that," you protest. "A lot of people had been very kind to us at that point, and I was so happy I could help someone else like they'd helped us. But I stopped getting taken in by con artists after that," you add sheepishly.

"And then you feel guilty about it! 'What if that man's daughter really was in the hospital?' 'I know that woman was a con artist, but she still must have been so desperate!'" Sasha shakes her head. "You're lucky you have me around. I tell'em to get lost."

"Having a strong tendency towards kindness can make life rather difficult, I'm afraid," Jerren says. "It means that you may be too quick to assume that others have the same virtues you know to be in yourself, while not understanding how a surprising number of people can exist without them. I'm afraid I've known many a kind person to pledge their love and loyalty to people who, I must say, have been spectacularly unworthy of the gift."

You raise your eyebrows. "I hope I've avoided that trap."

"And yet it sounds like you've learned to harden your heart, and judge people with more rigidity than you feel, because you've come to understand you can't assume the world is as kind and giving as yourself."

"I, well..." You shrug. "To some extent, yes."

"But it hasn’t been easy, has it?"

"Sometimes," you demur. 

"It's a difficult thing for a soul to act against its true nature. My theory is that it's what produces a great deal of human unhappiness."

"How so?" Sasha asks.

"Well, imagine someone with a justice soul. As a child, she's likely uncompromising, she believes that the truth will out and that righteousness is destined to prevail, she's always willing to put herself on the line. As she gets older, she witnesses injustices that can't be righted, she's forced by experience to learn how to pick her battles. She may win victories, but her losses, and the knowledge that there's so much that can't be fixed, must chafe at her soul."

"Or someone with a bravery soul might be forced into a situation where acting according to their soul's impulses would have too high of a cost," Adaleia says. "Like if saving one person would endanger ten others. They might always wonder if there was anything else they could have done, or if they could have saved the person anyway without hurting the others."

"I suppose it's like you said earlier," you muse, looking over at Jerren. "About falling short of your ideals. The longer you live, the more you learn to compromise your soul, and it makes you feel frustrated and alienated."

"Only the good die young," Sasha murmurs.

"Perhaps," Jerren says, a small smile on his lips. "Or perhaps you learn to embrace your nature, and develop a philosophy of life that takes your strengths and weaknesses into account, such that you're better able to cope with frustration and setbacks and still remain true to yourself."

"And I suppose you consider yourself one such philosopher?" Adaleia says.

"I do strive for continual self-knowledge and insight into those around me," Jerren answers. "That's what leads to mastery of the creative arts, after all. And as a determination soul, I'm motivated by action. I must always be learning and creating, or I am nothing."

"So soul color ties even into motivation? That makes sense," you say.

"Oh, of course. Let us imagine some dangerous scenario -- you see a child in the path of a car, perhaps. Saving the child would be an undeniably brave act, but it's not just orange souls who would attempt it. You two --" He indicates you and Ionathia -- "would save the child because its pain, fear and innocence would tear at your soul. You couldn't forgive yourself if you didn't try." He gestures at Adaleia. "You, as an integrity soul, might feel like the only right course of action would be to save an innocent child. What about you, Sasha, and me?"

"We'd save it because it was there," she answers, starting to smile.

"Yes! Because it's a challenge, a chance to right a wrong and test our mettle at the same time. And of course, just because someone had a patience soul wouldn't mean they wouldn't try to save the child. They might just let another aspect of their personality shine for a moment. And, of course... the chid might not be saved at all. Even a bravery soul might hesitate at the crucial moment. For your soul's color doesn't mean you will always act that way, under every circumstance. Virtues and principles are so highly prized precisely because when it truly counts, acting in accordance with them is one of the most difficult things humans can do."

"So even someone whose trait is patience might lose their temper under pressure, you mean?" Ionathia asks.

"Certainly. Or someone who normally tends towards kindness may snap, or someone unusually determined may give up. But they will long remember that moment, and regret it, because going against one's nature to that extent makes your whole soul feel wrong. Perhaps you can remember a time when you did not act in accordance with your ideals," he says, gesturing to Adaleia, "or when you were unkind," he adds, looking at Ionathia.

Adaleia looks disconcerted at this. "I... yes, I suppose I can," she murmurs. Ionathia, too, looks abashed.

You can think of a recent example -- yelling at someone who was trying to atone for his sins. But like your friends, you don't share your thoughts.

"For me," Jerren continues, "it's the times I've given up that feel like they poison my soul. I must be certain I've exhausted my options before I give up. I take things to extremes that most people wouldn't understand. But you do, don't you?" he says to Sasha.

She nods. "That's how I feel too."

"But you don't," he says to you. "So going back to the question of why I believe your soul to be green. Try to imagine taking pleasure in cruelty. An act of vandalism perhaps, or taking out frustration on someone who can't properly defend themselves, such as a shopgirl or a servant, or cheating someone out of money they needed. You find it impossible, don't you?"

"Yeah... uh, I guess..."

Jerren gestures to you. "I have known her to stand up for herself, or for others. I have known her to be righteously angry. I've known her sense of humor to get dark under stress. But I have never known her to be cruel, or to take pleasure in cruelty. That's what tells me she has a green soul."

"Yeah, I can see it," Sasha comments. "Green and red... No wonder I always thought you were such a cream puff," she says, patting your shoulder.

"Wonder what Matty would have been..." you muse.

"Justice is my guess. Yellow, that is," Jerren says. You and Adaleia both nod.

"That sounds completely right," Adaleia murmurs. "You remember when he found those horrible children bullying your little friend? Oh, what was her name?"

"Theodora? Yeah, I remember..." The silent girl who liked to wear boy’s clothes had been easy prey. That was back when you and Matty were thirteen. The two children had been several years older than their seven-year old target, but just your brother's size.

"Matty tried to stop them, and then they started going after him instead," Adaleia says with a distant smile. "I remember trying to patch him up and telling him what an idiot he was, and he just said, 'Someone had to show them that what they were doing was wrong.'"

And then, when you and she were alone again, she turned to you and said "I think I just fell in love with your stupid brother." You smile, remembering this detail that's a little too personal to share with the group.

"He really was a good man," Jerren says nodding. "I remember once I invited him to a poetry reading one of my friends was holding. There was a young lady there who, through no fault of her own, had offended one of the other members of that particular social circle, and as a result was being snubbed. She was having a terrible time at the poetry reading, and I thought she might break down altogether. But when Matty understood what was going on, and saw how distressed she was, he made it his mission to take her side, and to cheer her up.”

“That does sound like him,” Adaleia comments.

“And it worked, too. Having one ally brightened her spirits greatly, and it shamed some of the others into realizing how churlish they were being. By the end of the party, everyone was treating her normally, even the one who had started the bullying.""

"I remember that party, I think," you say. "Matty came home in an unusually pensive mood..."

"He said he liked you perfectly well, but he didn’t think much of your friends," Adaleia chimed in. "And that their poetry stunk."

"I wasn’t going to say that part,” you murmur.

"That’s why you keep me around.”

"I can’t pretend he was wrong," Jerren says, chuckling.

"I thought perhaps someone had bullied him... He never told us he was the one standing up for someone else.” There’s tears in your eyes. "Thank you for sharing that memory of him."

Adaleia's expression is distant, too. "I wish he could have been here today. I don’t think any day can truly be perfect now he’s gone."

You don't either, and you drift into thought. Yes, your impetuous, sweet brother certainly could have had a yellow soul... It makes you smile to think of it. How funny, that up here you should have such a fascinating discussion of soul colors. It's pleasant to think that everyone has that hidden touch of color within them, that signpost that points to something about their deeper nature. And how lucky you are, that you've actually seen yours! You wonder what Sans would have made of the conversation, and what he might have had to add. Of course --

"Ionathia, you’ve hardly touched anything,” Jerren points out. “Is anything not to your taste?”

"Oh, I, uh... Excuse me, I just don’t feel hungry," she murmurs.

"How can you not feel hungry? This is all so good,” Sasha says. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had such a good meal, even if I can’t taste it all that well.”

"Yes, this is all absolutely amazing," you chime in.

"I’ll pass your compliments to the chef,” Adaleia says, and Ionathia nods.

What were you thinking about just now?

Your train of thought drifts off to pleasanter things, like the remaining stuffed grape leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to week 3 of the APJFM golden age! This lunch is two chapters long, but it's 10,000 words -- right at the level where I just as easily could have made it one chapter. So I may post chapter 27 early...
> 
> So who here would have lunch with Jerren if your favorite food was involved? Like Reader, I would go an awful long way for a good plate of stuffed grape leaves...
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me!
> 
> My tumblr is at [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's a calendar to chapter 26 (to be added later).


	27. never have i ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171315421435/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

The silence settles on the group again, and Sasha is the first to break it. "You all are so boring! Let’s play a game."

"Do you have something in mind?" Jerren asks.

"What about ‘Never Have I Ever?’"

"How do you even know about drinking games?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at her.

"Come on, everyone knows this one. I’ll go first." She smiles wickedly at you. "Never have I ever started a fire.” 

You groan and take a drink. "Why did you have to start with that one?”

"Because it’s fun watching you admit to being a pyromaniac."

"I am not a pyromaniac! It was an accident."

"Don’t keep us in suspense!" Adaleia says.

"Unless of course she’d rather not share the story," Ionathia adds.

You sigh. "No, I don’t mind. Just that after we went underground, I got a job at a garment factory. But my very first day, I put something with oil on it in the wrong bin, and it caught fire."

"Oh, but that can’t have been your fault!" Ionathia protests. “You were still new!”

"The foreman thought it was," you say with a shrug. "Told me not to come back."

"Was anyone hurt?" Adaleia asks.

"No, thank goodness, it was put out quickly." You look down morosely at your peach wine. That was your second of four failed attempts to find a job, before Louie took you under his wing. Previously, you’d been the world’s worst waitress. Then came the failed audition, then a disastrous evening as a chorus girl.

Jerren takes a drink, too, and everyone looks expectantly at him. "I accidentally started a grease fire in the palace kitchens," he explains. 

"What were you even in there for?" Sasha asks.

"I was writing a poem, and I wanted to use the rich scent of spices simmering in oil as an image. But it’s always a little better if I’m writing from experience, so I went to the kitchens and heated up some oil in a saucepan. I heated it up too quickly and while I was still gathering the spices, it caught fire. It was a small matter to put out, and it proved a useful memory when writing."

"You go next," Sasha says to you, poking your arm. 

You sigh and think for a minute. "I hate being put on the spot like this... Never have I ever broken any bones." Everyone looks at each other, and you raise your eyebrows. "None of you have broken any bones? Really?"

"I don't know what kind of rough-and-tumble lifestyle you think I lead," Adaleia says, shaking her head. Ionathia shakes her head, too.

"I've twisted my ankle real good a few times, but never broken anything," Sasha says.

"Not even you?" you say to Jerren. "With all the time you spend training horses?"

Jerren smiles as if he's recalling something amusing, but he just shrugs. "What can I say, I have a knack with them."

"Well... all right, then," you say, taking a drink. "Adaleia, your turn.”

"Oh, let me see... Never have I ever confessed my love to anyone.” 

Sasha and Jerren drink, and you raise your eyebrows at your sister. "It was in seventh grade. I passed him a note telling him I really liked him and asking if he felt the same about me. At recess he took me aside and informed me that the only three things he loved were God, his family and baseball.” She sighs. “So I went on a date with his best friend. That was Mr. Frog Tongue. Didn’t work out.”

You smack your forehead, but the others are laughing uproariously. Sasha grins as she gestures at Jerren. "Your turn, loverboy."

Jerren shakes his head. "I never kiss and tell. I do, however, write some fantastic poetry if I get my heart broken." 

Sasha leans over and whispers something to Jerren. He chuckles and whispers something back, and she glances at you. You give her a look, and she just grins.

Jerren looks over at Ionathia. "And I suppose this means your husband confessed his love first?" He looks at her again, frowning. She's looking down with her eyes closed, taking deep, deliberate breaths. “I’m afraid you really don’t look well, my dear...”

"I, uh... I’m sorry, I... it’s just, all the smells, and— I just..." She puts a hand over her mouth and stumbles to her feet, then hurries to the sink and retches. You and Adaleia glance at each other, then follow her. While Adaleia keeps her hair out of the way, you fetch water and a towel. 

Between heaves, Ionathia apologizes for ruining the picnic. "It was all going so nicely, and -- and--" 

"Don't be a goose," Adaleia snaps. "If you're sick, you're sick, it can't be helped. Are you feeling better, now you've emptied yourself out?"

"I... I'm afraid not," she admits, her expression miserable. 

She turns for another session over the sink, and you watch her with dismay. A terrible thought comes to mind: could Jerren have tried to drug her, to get one of your chaperones out of the way? Did any of your food taste funny?! Did you and Ionathia eat any of the same foods? What if Sasha got drugged and it interfered with her medication?! If he's hurt Sasha you'll kill him --

That paranoia again. Everyone else seems totally fine... you feel well-fed and energetic, Sasha seems fine, Adaleia seems like her usual self... and you were spacing out for a large part of the lunch, but if Ionathia ate anything at all, you sure don't remember it. And hasn't she been feeling draggy all day? Even at the very beginning, she seemed weary, and you'd chalked it up to having to get up early, travel to the Concourse and sit through extended negotiations with the guards at the checkpoint. Then she'd seemed so grateful for the chance to sit and rest with Sasha while you and Adaleia went back to the gravesite... 

The more you think about it... the more you realize she may have very well been feeling sick all morning. And she's been pushing herself, without complaint, so she can be here for you.

"You need to rest until that husband of yours can take a look at you," Adaleia pronounces. 

"I -- I'd hate to bother him," Ionathia protests weakly, her voice reverberating in the trough-like sink. "And -- I can't go home yet..."

"She shall be just fine with me. If that man puts one toe out of line I vow to chop it off with a butter knife."

After one last retch, Ionathia falls to her knees, clinging to the side of the sink. "I know you will be a good chaperone, Addy, but... but I should not like to leave if... if she would wish me to stay..." She looks up at you, her expression desperate.

Poor Ionathia... Hesitant to leave you alone, she really has been pushing herself. But it’s clear now that she’s in no shape to be out here. Well, Adaleia and Sasha are still here, and you’ll be headed back to reality soon enough... after dessert.

"It’s all right, Io," you say, crouching next to her and patting her back. "You go on home and rest. I’ll be fine."

Things are settled soon enough; Jerren's bodyguard is recruited to drive Ionathia back home, and she's quickly loaded into the car, holding a large bowl in her lap. Jerren reaches for her hand and kisses it. "May I be the first to congratulate you?" he says in a low voice, smiling widely.

"Congratulate her on what, having a weak stomach?" Sasha grumbles. But for you, light dawns; you glance at Adaleia, who appears to have had the same insight.

Ionathia's eyes widen, then she beams as she puts a hand on her tummy. "I am honored by your kindness," she murmurs.

Sasha looks at Ionathia, then at you. "Am I missing something?" she whispers.

"She’s pregnant!" you say in a low voice. Jerren chuckles.

"Oh!" Sasha’s eyes open wide.

Ionathia flushes. "I do apologize for causing all this trouble. I wasn't actually sure until this morning..."

"No, no, it's wonderful!" you say, leaning over and giving her a hug as best as you can while she's in the car seat. "Congratulations!" 

"Better than being sick," Adaleia chimes in. "Though I suppose it lasts longer."

Ionathia is wreathed in smiles, her exhaustion temporarily forgotten.

"That was pretty good, for a man," Adaleia comments as the four of you return to the picnic. "Who knew you were such an expert on the early stages of pregnancy?”

"Yeah, how’d you know it wasn’t just food poisoning or something?" Sasha asks.

"The signs are not hard to see if you’re looking for them," Jerren says with a shrug. “And I am nothing if not observant. If I had been born underground, I sometimes think I might have been a detective."

"And not an actor?" you say, raising your eyebrows.

"Maybe both," he answers, grinning. "Detective by day, actor by night! Or the other way around.”

"Or an actor who solves crimes in the theater! That'd make a good series of mystery novels," you muse. "Murder in the Dressing Room, Murder in the Wings..."

"Murder in the Orchestra Pit, yes, I can imagine it," Jerren says with a grin.

"Ionathia never got to ask a question," Sasha complains. "So I guess it's your turn, Jerren."

"Hmm." He ponders this for a moment. "Never have I ever taken revenge by pocketing a pearl necklace when I thought no one was looking."

You and Sasha both laugh at this. "Wow, that's suspiciously specific," you say. "Are you sure you don't have something you want to confess to us?"

"I don't," he says, raising an eyebrow at you. He looks over at Adaleia.

"Wait... are you calling her a thief?" Sasha says, her eyes lighting up.

"Uh, Jerren...? I’m sure you’ve misunderstood something, or— or made some mistake..." Your voice falters as Adaleia stares back at Jerren. Then she deliberately brings her glass to her lips and takes a drink.

You and Sasha gape at her.

"Ordinarily I wouldn’t get involved," Jerren says to her, his voice gentle. "But there could be trouble for your friend when the loss is discovered. Neither of us want her good name to be clouded even more unfairly than it already is. So why don’t you let me take care of it?” He holds his hand out to Adaleia.

She withdraws a string of pink pearls from her cleavage and drops it in his hand.

"Thank you," he says, tucking it in his pocket. 

There's silence as he takes another drink of his wine. Adaleia leans over and hides her face in her hands. You gape at her, not sure what to say.

Sasha's the one to break the silence. "So you're not just a bitter rich girl, you're a kleptomaniac too?" All three of you stare at her, and she blinks. "What? I meant it in a good way!”

"I’m not a kleptomaniac. Just a complete, blithering idiot," Adaleia mumbles, looking away. 

"Let me guess," Jerren says. "You resent your replacement neighbors for taking advantage of the Calandra family's misfortunes, buying this estate for a song then erasing all traces of the former residents. Furthermore, they treat the family’s graves with disrespect, and prevent you from honoring your childhood friend as he deserves. Plus...” He drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re a couple of pricks, aren’t they?”

Both you and Sasha can’t help but laugh at this, and Adaleia’s expression of desperate shame softens. "They’re absolutely insufferable."

"I had to deal with them too," Jerren continues. "It wasn’t easy to maneuver them out of the way without revealing my true motives. I found them so annoying that I entertained the idea of some small act of revenge of my own. I rather liked the idea of tucking bits of rotting meat in those dreadful bowls of potpourri.” All three of you laugh at this, even Adaleia. "What I’m trying to say is that I do understand the impulse.”

"Yeah, but she's the one who's supposed to have so much integrity, right?" Sasha points out.

Adaleia winces. "Yes, thank you Sasha, I would _love_ that knife twisted a little more."

"I still think I was right," Jerren says. "Remember that having a soul strong in one particular trait doesn’t mean you can never act otherwise. Humans have amazing capacities for self-delusion and self-justification. It means it will take more of a push to act against your nature, and that you will punish yourself for it long afterwards. I imagine that Adaleia has long resented the new neighbors, and has been regretting her impulsive act since it was committed." Adaleia nods. "But there's no harm done. I will take care of it."

"Thank you," Adaleia says in a low voice. She sighs. "I apologize for calling you a backstabbing rat. Among other things."

Jerren shakes his head. "No, let it remind you that there are much worse mistakes to make than a minor bit of larceny."

There's silence, which again, Sasha breaks. "Let's forget about it and have some cake!"

Adaleia gets to her feet, saying "Amen to that."

Ionathia and Adaleia -- or rather, their families' respective cooks -- have really outdone themselves with dessert. There's the chocolate-cherry cake Ionathia alluded to, brownies, fruit tarts, cookies and fruit salad... You could cheerfully eat the whole selection yourself, even after the delicious lunch. You cut the cake into generous slices and pass them around, and for a while there's companionable silence as you all enjoy the desserts. The only one you don’t touch is Adaleia’s beloved banana trifle, which she attacks with the same gusto you bring to the cake and Jerren brings to the brownies.

So Ionathia is pregnant... You're so happy for her! She's always wanted children, and you're sure she'll be a good mother... more hands-on with her children than your mother was, most likely. What would you be like as a mother? You'd never cared much for baby dolls, as a girl, but you'd liked the idea of a family, and you'd assumed you'd have children some day just as you'd assumed you'd get married some day. Then at the age of eighteen you became the guardian of your nine-year old sister, and since then the idea of having children lost its appeal. But recently you've come to think that maybe, once Sasha is older, and maybe, if you find the right partner, maybe you might be open to having children... maybe. Can monsters and humans have children? You don't even know, but even if the answer is no you could always adopt... You catch yourself with a smile. Talk about getting ahead of yourself. You lean back and sigh. When you were younger, and more ignorant about sex, Louie had --

Jerren interrupts your train of thought. "More cake?"

You can't help but smile. The sun is shining, your sister is getting better, your heart is at peace, and a tall, dark and handsome man is feeding you chocolate-cherry cake. Before long, you'll be back underground, so you may as well enjoy yourself. "Yes, please."

"I'm surprised you're willing to share," Adaleia observes. "You must be wild for chocolate."

"Not exactly," Jerren says. 

"That's your fifth brownie," Sasha says, raising her eyebrows.

He takes a bite of his fifth brownie. The three of you stare at him, and he shrugs. "It's more of a compulsion."

"Bizarre," Adaleia mutters.

"You’re the one who’s basically eating baby food," Sasha counters, pointing at the banana trifle.

"I’ll have you know this is a time-honored family recipe," Adaleia says with dignity. "Our cook’s family, at any rate."

"Let me try a bite," Jerren says. Adaleia pushes her bowl towards him, and he grabs a spoon and scoops out some of the whipped cream and pudding. "Very sweet," is his judgment. "I'll leave you to it."

"We'll all leave you to it," Sasha says, making a face. She glances over at Jerren's wrist, then pokes it. "Hey, your sleeve is ripped..."

He holds his hand up, looking at the tear near the cuff. "Yes, I snagged it on a nail when I was fetching the desserts. It's hardly worth interrupting our time together to change, but..." He moves his arm so the fabric flaps around. "It does look rather silly."

Adaleia frowns. "I'm sorry, I hardly thought to bring my sewing kit..."

"She can fix it," Sasha suggests, gesturing at you. "She's always got hers. Right?"

"I, uh..." You do, indeed, have your sewing kit in your handbag. 

"I would be much obliged to you," Jerren says. "It is a little drafty."

"Well, uh... all right..."

Feeling rather put on the spot, you fetch your sewing kit and wash your hands. Jerren goes to the other side of the table, sitting next to you in the spot that Ionathia vacated, and offers his arm. 

"It's bad luck to sew clothing that someone's wearing unless they hold a piece of thread in their mouth," Sasha points out. 

"That's just a silly superstition," you say. "But I don't want to jinx anything today, so..." You cut off a piece of thread and give it to Jerren. He grins and pops it in his mouth, the thin line of white thread trailing down to his chin.

You thread your needle, then start repairing the tear in the fabric with neat, even stitches. This close to Jerren, you're struck by the subtle scent of his cologne. Why does the man have to smell good, too? This feels much more intimate than you'd realized it would, and you feel blood rushing to your cheeks. He's still and meek under your hands, submitting himself to your assistance with an open, trusting air. Flustered, you fumble the needle, poking his arm with it. He jumps.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry," you say.

He shakes his head, making muffled noises that seem to indicate a general sense of benevolence and forgiveness.

"Maybe it would help if he took his shirt off," Adaleia suggests with exaggerated innocence.

"Shut up, Addy," you grumble as Sasha giggles. Jerren chuckles too, and when you glance up at him his expression is warm and comical, that bit of thread still dangling from his lips. You can't help but smile too at such a ridiculous situation. Another few stitches and the mending is done. You run your fingers over it, just out of habit, before catching yourself, remembering that there’s a person inside the sleeve. You turn away and busy yourself with rearranging your sewing kit.

Jerren inspects it, smiling. "Very nice work. Thank you."

"Don’t mention it..."

He grins and turns away, taking another brownie."What an excellent meal! I pity Ionathia for not being able to enjoy it."

"She's happy even if she can't eat a bite," Adaleia says, smiling wryly. "She loves babies, and she's been giddy about the idea of starting a family. She's probably designing the nursery right now." she continues, gesturing dismissively.

"And she was married last year, correct? I can't say as I've ever met her husband," Jerren muses. "But he must be a... steady, decent sort of man."

"Yes, you're quite right, that’s just how I would have described him. And thank goodness for that," Adaleia answers, shaking her head.

"Would I know him? Or know of him?" you ask.

"I would guess not," Adaleia says. "He's from outside." 

"Oh? How in the world did Io meet him?"

"A steady, decent man from outside who married a daughter of the Courtyard... Let me see if I can guess," Jerren says. 

Your ears prick up, as do Adaleia's; this is one of Jerren's more famous parlor tricks, and you've both seen him do it before. "The man was a resident of the Concourse, but he had business that took him inside the Courtyard. Am I on the right track so far?"

"You are," Adaleia says.

"The words 'steady' and 'decent' point to a particular type of personality. A caretaker type, who can shelter your gentle friend and make her feel safe. She must have been attracted to his good nature, but... thrilled, perhaps, by some aspect of him." He glances almost imperceptibly at you. "Kind and sheltered women often find themselves attracted to a man who gives them a feeling of excitement."

"You're doing good so far," Adaleia says, nodding. 

"For them to live in the Courtyard, instead of her moving out to the Concourse with him, he must be quite wealthy. But beyond that... perhaps he has some skill that's useful here. He must be personable, if he was able to get people to speak for him and allow him to be established here. That points to someone people are comfortable with. So he could be... a doctor at Narcissus Hospital from a wealthy family, working with vulnerable patients?"

Adaleia laughs. "The detective prince strikes again! Yes, Ionathia married a doctor. He's an --"

"Don't give away the specialty! I can still guess it," Jerren says, laughing. "You've let slip that it starts with a vowel, that's almost too big of a clue." He ponders it for a moment. "An obstetrician!" he says, his eyes lighting up.

"How in the world did you know?" Adaleia says, shaking her head in astonishment.

A lucky guess, you can’t help but think. If Jerren had been born underground, perhaps he and Sans could have opened a detective agency together... or been bitter rivals.

"I thought so! I can imagine it now," Jerren continues. "Someone in Ionathia's life -- a sister, perhaps -- was pregnant, and needed the services of a specialist. He made a house call, where he met our lovely friend. Over the course of the pregnancy, he won her attention and sympathy with stories of dangerous labors made smooth, premature babies saved from tiny caskets, blissful mamas snuggling healthy babies. All thanks to his care, of course."

"You have described it exactly! I still remember her telling me about the stories he told her. 'Addy, the baby's head was _this_ big!'" Adaleia indicates the size of a premature baby's tiny head as she mimics her friend's high voice. "'So _teeny_ , can you imagine _such_ a teeny baby? And _he_ was the one who saved it!' She talks about him like he's a god, I swear."

An almost imperceptible shadow crosses Jerren's face, but he continues to smile. "As for the man's personal life, let me guess... He's taken by the Courtyard, as many outsiders are, and likes long rambles and hikes." Adaleia nods, and Jerren continues "He loves dogs, and has two of them -- I noticed the fur on Ionathia's skirt, before you ask -- and he's a strict vegetarian --"

"Oh, now this is too much! How did you guess that?" Adaleia asks.

"Because so much of our food today is vegetarian, to please our guest of honor," Jerren says, gesturing to you, "and the best vegetarian dishes were all brought by your friend, from the kitchen of her family's cook, who must therefore be practiced at them."

"That is such a stretch, but you _are_ right," Adaleia says, rolling her eyes.

"You're good!" Sasha says, her eyes wide. 

He smiles benevolently at her. "Yes, you've never seen me play this little game, have you? It is not such a marvel to our companions," he continues, looking at you, then at Adaleia. "Familiarity breeds contempt, I am afraid."

"No, no, I am quite impressed as always," you say, smiling. "I rather feel like I know the man, now!"

"How do we know you didn’t just research him before, to impress us?" Sasha asks.

Jerren chuckles. "I suppose you really don’t. But I have been making a practice of this kind of observation and deduction ever since I was a boy. Spend enough time with me and you’ll come to believe in my abilities."

"Can you do it with anyone?"

"If I have some information to go on, I usually do fairly well," Jerren answers. "In this case, knowing the character of our gentle friend went a long way towards telling me about the man she had chosen to share her life with."

"You know me pretty well," Sasha says. "What kind of guy should I marry?"

"Someone who isn't intimidated by you," Jerren answers immediately. "Someone who thinks your straightforwardness is an asset, not a fault to be trained out of you. And the same goes for you," he says, nodding to Adaleia.

"Good luck to me finding him," Adaleia says, rolling her eyes.

"You will," Jerren says, smiling. "You are too much of a romantic to be forever unmarried."

"A romantic? Me?"

"You don't hide it as well as you think you do," he says indulgently. 

Adaleia seems flustered by this, which she covers up with a gruff "Well, you're the expert on human nature. If you ever meet a man who likes old maids with sharp tongues, send him my way."

"Perhaps I will," Jerren says with a small smile.

"How about her? Who should she marry?" Sasha says, pointing to you.

You wave off the question. "I doubt I'll ever --"

"She should marry someone who values her as highly she deserves," Jerren says quietly, looking at you. 

"Then she's not going to marry anyone, 'cause no stupid guy could appreciate her as much as I do," Sasha declares, putting her hand over yours and squeezing as hard as she can -- which is still not very hard.

Jerren and Adaleia both laugh at this, and you can't help but laugh too, smiling at your sister. Maybe some day Sans will actually value you for more than your skill in bed. But even then maybe you really never would get married... because you don’t know if monsters have some other pair-bonding custom. Getting ahead of yourself again... 

You turn the conversation away from yourself. "And I suppose you're destined to marry some princess from a foreign land sight unseen, to strengthen ties between your countries or prevent war?" you say to Jerren with an impish grin.

He grins back. "Yes, I shall have to teach her our language and produce the requisite heir and a spare, one of whom will no doubt grow up to murder me. If my queen doesn't get fed up with me and do it first, of course!"

"It is all quite the stuff of tragedy..."

"Thankfully we entrust the diplomacy to others in these more enlightened times. Leaving me to lunch with beautiful women and love whom I please.”

"Living the dream, are you?" Adaleia says, raising her glass in mock salute.

"Precisely," he answers, filling it, then clinking his glass to hers. The two of them drink with mock solemnity.

There’s silence as you all finish your last bites of dessert. "I’m stuffed! I want to lay down and watch the clouds," Sasha says. "Like when we were kids."

There’s general agreement to this plan, and you help her out of her wheelchair onto the grass. You lay down next to her, with Adaleia on her other side and Jerren next to Adaleia. "This is perfect," she pronounces.

"This really is quite nice," Adaleia agrees, stretching out and yawning.

"I think that one looks like a dragon," Jerren says, pointing up at the sky. "Do you see its wings?"

"It looks like a kid on a hang glider to me," Sasha says. 

"I’m seeing a woman by a tree,” you say.

"I see a big old cloud," Adaleia complains, and the rest of you laugh.

As the clouds drift by and the others chatter about what they see in the sky, you let your mind drift off. God, this feels so good...

Your heart feels so light, right now. This is that feeling you love, that feeling of shedding your roles and being simply you. You could so easily forget your years as a penny-pinching secretary, your responsibilities and failures as a substitute mother, how it feels to sell your body to strangers, and that your family fell into shame and ruin. All there is is the woman underneath it all, the you that you were always meant to be... someone who's playful, gentle, comfortable in her own skin and optimistic about the future. This is how you feel with Sans, when things are going well... It's nice to know you can feel this way on your own, too.

You might have had a little too much to drink, you realize. This is how you feel after a couple of glasses of echo wine... Was the peach wine a little stronger than usual, or were you just careless about how much you drank? The appetizers were a little on the salty side... Oh well -- you might be a tiny bit buzzed, but you still have your wits about you, and it'll pass.

"That one looks like a car to me," Jerren says.

"Yeah, I can see a car," you agree.

There’s silence from the others. When you turn to look at Sasha, she’s asleep, an impish smile on her lips. Poor Sasha, she gets tired out so quickly now... You sit up to find that Adaleia, too, is asleep, her usual supercilious expression replaced by a peaceful one. 

Well, so much for the Adaleia who would cut off bits of this man if he stepped out of line. But you can hardly hold it against her... it’s a perfect fall day, and the sunshine feels so good. If you weren’t enjoying being awake so much, you might enjoy a nap yourself.

Jerren sits up, too, and smiles indulgently at your companions. "Look at our sleeping beauties here," he whispers. "Well, if they’re waiting for me to wake them up with a kiss, they’re going to be waiting a long time.”

You can’t help but giggle. Yes, maybe you are a little buzzed.

"Would you like to take a walk?" he whispers. He gestures toward the gardens. There's other people there, you see... gardeners trimming the hedges, other court members and aristocrats. It's not so crowded that they'll all be staring at you... and not so solitary that no one could hear you scream.

And maybe this is the peach wine talking, but soon enough, this fairytale day will end and you'll go back underground... so what's the harm in seeing the beautiful palace gardens first?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 2 of our picnic! As I really could have made the lunch sequence into one big chapter -- it's about 10,000 words altogether and my chapters tend to be around 6,000 -- I thought I'd have pity and post this one a little early. The next chapter will be posted Saturday or Sunday.
> 
> And so Ionathia is neither poisoned nor conspiring to poison others... whew! How nice that there is now nothing left to worry about. 
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me!
> 
> My tumblr is at [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's a calendar to chapter 27 (to be added later).


	28. an awful way to start a new job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just for Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171455941620/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

You and Jerren wander over to the gardens, and walk together in silence for a few minutes. You're as hyper-aware of your surroundings as you feel Sans must be, part of your mind always focusing on where everyone is in relation to you. A gardener at 2:00... a couple walking together at 9:00... Jerren to your left... The picnic shelter behind you, but not so far away you can't see it... You'd wanted to see the gorgeous gardens, but you're second-guessing yourself, you shouldn't have done this, what were you thinking...

Jerren doesn't seem uneasy at all. He walks by your side, perfectly contented, at times greeting someone as they walk by. "You know, I was wrong," he says thoughtfully. "I broke my arm when I was a boy. I completely forgot about it, though."

You're too on edge to make light conversation, but you manage to get out a noise indicating vague interest.

"Sliding down the bannisters," he continues. "One of the advantages of palace life."

"Mmm."

He doesn’t have much to say to this, but he soon tries again. He stops and gestures to a large fountain by which a couple of kids are playing, a governess watching them. "I don't remember if I told you before, but this was my favorite place to play when I was young. I used to make little sailboats, and sail them right here.”

You look at him, frowning. "Uh... Did you really bring me here just to talk about your childhood?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, uh..." You collect your thoughts. "I just... I can believe that you wanted to make amends. You've done that, though. For me, just... just visiting my family, that was enough. I mean, I'm not saying I've totally forgiven you, I'm just saying, as far as I'm concerned we're even. But you've, uh... well, you've gone overboard, don't you think? Arranging things so everyone was gone for hours... setting up that picnic... and now, uh, here we are..." You look directly at him, searching his face for clues. "This doesn't make sense, Jerren. What do you want from me?"

He laughs awkwardly. "You know me too well, don't you? All right. Cards on the table." He turns to you, his hands out in an expansive gesture. "I miss you. I want to be friends again."

Struck by this, you look away and laugh just as awkwardly, shaking your head. "Come on, Jerren. We were hardly close in the first place. I was just a novelty to you because I wasn't constantly throwing myself at you."

He looks hurt. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do! You're the expert on human nature. Don't you realize that you are so little used to frustration that you always want what you can't have?"

He smiles wryly. "It's not that simple. As you had no desire to win my heart or my good opinion, you have always been honest with me, and have treated me according to my own merits and character. I will admit that I hardly knew what to make of that, surrounded by flatterers and opportunists as I had been. Yes, part of my reaction to you was certainly based in the flaw in our nature that leads us to want what we can't have. But as I've grown up and understood the human heart more deeply, I've since realized that my pride and hurt feelings led me to throw away a rare gift, and I deeply regretted my treatment of you. Then when our paths crossed again, I saw this opportunity, and..." He shrugs. "I hoped I might be able to repair the damage I had done."

You ponder this as you continue walking with him. "So... you went to all this trouble so you could have someone in your life who'll tell you when you're being a pompous ass?"

"The position is vacant," he says with a grin. "I'd be honored if you applied."

You take a deep breath. "Huh." Unsure of what to say, you continue walking with him, trailing your fingers over the leaves of the hedge to your right.

"You've always seen through me," he continues. "You remember how you once told me that I was like the star of my own private play? And you've certainly weren't hesitant to stand up to me, when you felt I was doing wrong. You've never treated me with flattery and deference. But I've come to realize that you've never tried to manipulate or use me, either. When I was able to win your good opinion, it felt all the more gratifying because I knew it was real. And..." He takes a deep breath, and his shoulders slump. "I am coming to a point in my life where I am going to need real. I am going to need allies. I am going to need people I can trust."

"What do you mean?"

He stops and looks around before answering in a low voice. "I won’t insult you by asking if you can keep a secret. The truth is... my father doesn't have long."

Your eyes widen. 

"He's had two heart attacks. One last year, one a few months ago. But he's stubborn, he likes his pleasures too much. He promised to listen to the doctors, and take proper exercise, and improve his diet. It didn't last a week, either time. And I don't know... well, how long until it catches up with him. And I don't know what I'll do when he's gone."

There's a catch in his voice that touches your heart. 

He continues, "Most of what he does might just be ceremonial, but there's still a lot to learn. At the moment I'll be in deepest mourning, I'll also be stepping into his shoes. It's an awful way to start a new job, isn't it?" He smiles, but it's a weak one. "That’s why I started rethinking things. How I live my life. How I treat people. How I -- well, how I treated you. Things like that."

You can't help but feel pity at the idea of anyone, even Jerren, losing a parent. He doesn't truly know how it'll feel yet... but soon enough, he'll go through hell too.

This man called your father a pervert and your mother a slut when their ashes were barely cool, that persistent voice inside you snaps. But he apologized, he brought you back to them... he's genuinely trying to repent. However he may have acted in the past, he'll understand your pain so much better, all too soon. "I'm sorry," you say softly.

"I appreciate that," he answers, just as softly. The two of you walk together in silence that suddenly seems much more companionable than awkward.

If your wild theory that Jerren can see the future is at all correct... might he have even seen something happening to his father? As terrible a vision as that might be, it certainly could produce some drastic changes in a person... Of course, if a man has two heart attacks, it doesn't exactly take future sight to know where things are headed.

This is all starting to make a little more sense. Faced with a stressful, uncertain future, Jerren started to assign you a place in his life... thinking of you as the one who got away, perhaps, and believing that with you around to help and advise him, he might actually be more prepared for his life’s work. And, perhaps, if he could atone for his behavior towards you, then he could truly believe in his own mind that he had changed... that forgiveness from someone who he had once hurt would prove he had redeemed himself, that he had truly become the trustworthy, conscientious man that he seems to want to be.

"So... that’s why you started volunteering at the hospital?"

"Yes. I realized that my city was in crisis, and I was hiding in the Courtyard. And for the first time, I felt ashamed of myself." He sighs. "My father has never been particularly conscientious about his duties, or much cared about how he might serve anyone outside the Courtyard. But when I thought about how his duties would soon be my duties, I started to wonder if perhaps I shouldn’t do better than the example set for me. Perhaps I was wasting all I’ve been given, and my position in life.”

"I see...” 

He grins. "And you agree, too, don’t you? It’s written all over your face, that you’re thinking ‘About time!’"

You chuckle awkwardly. "I am encouraged to hear about your emerging sense of civic responsibility, let’s put it that way."

This makes him laugh. "I appreciate that you can be diplomatic as well as honest. Well, it may sound ridiculous to you, but I will admit that I was scared to approach the hospital.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Why?”

“I thought I didn’t have enough to offer... that they’d laugh up their sleeves at my presumption and advise me to stay out of the way of the people doing real work."

You look searchingly at him, surprised at this confession of insecurity. Even Jerren can feel that way, huh? He's always enjoyed giving the impression of mystery and control... This vulnerability is new to you.

"But instead they were delighted for my help, they welcomed me. I came to understand that my role carries real power, even outside the Courtyard, and I got the first glimpse of how I might use it to make things better. Then Sasha showed up, and... Well, to me it felt like a sign that I was doing the right thing.”

There's something meaningful in his voice; the implication is, you suppose, that your reappearance in his life was some sort of cosmic reward? You opt to ignore that particular idea and direct the conversation elsewhere. "You realize that it's amusing to me to hear about how the Concourse could use your help, when underground, things are... well, it’s just all so much more dire, you can't imagine..."

This seems to animate him; he turns to you, an almost boyish enthusiasm in his expression. "That's exactly it! That's why I need your help. If I'm to truly be a greater king than my father, I must try to do better by the poor souls underground. But I don't know how!"

" _How_?" you echo with disbelief. "There's -- there's so much that you could do if you chose, I hardly know where to start..."

"You see? I have grown up with every advantage, but for all that, I know so little of that world. I've never even been down there, and the information I receive is carefully filtered. But you, you've known its hardships, yet you've managed to thrive down there and raise your sister into a fine young woman. You don't know how I admire you, and you have so much to teach me, if you can find it in your heart..."

You blink, embarrassed by this shower of praise... yet, you must admit, pleased as well. This man knows too well how to appeal to you, some voice inside warns you... but there's no harm in telling him what he wants to know, is there? "I, uh... I could try..."

He beams. "Then tell me about your life down there. Start with the schools. I am particularly interested in the education of the next generation."

Oh, he's chosen the subject well, as you have a great deal to say about the underground New Ebott public school system -- the underpaid and overstretched teachers, the children who come to class too hungry to learn, the parents who sacrifice to give their children opportunities, the bright, optimistic kids who dream of seeing the surface some day and the ones who drop out to support families or join gangs... It's a subject you can talk at length about, and whenever you run out of things to say he has another question which puts you on a whole new tangent.

Before you know it you're telling him about how it feels to coexist with the New Ebott gangs, to always be on your guard for signs of conflict and to never give offense to anyone, how the local businesses pay protection fees and how the construction company you worked for was connected with one of the biggest gangs around. You even tell him about Jack and Gracie, which leads to telling him all about the dance halls, the movies you take Sasha to, the library and the park and the soup kitchen, the soda fountain nearby where you like to get a drink or a sundae and read...

He hangs on your stories as if he's never heard anything so fascinating, and there's such sincerity in his manner that as skeptical as you are, you can't believe he's just humoring you... he truly does seem deeply interested in what you have to say. It's a gratifying experience, as no one else in your life is quite this interested in your opinions and observations. Sasha sometimes lets your words pass in one ear and out the other, Gracie can chatter on and on without noticing that you haven't been able to get a word in edgewise... and Sans, of course, didn't become interested in you for your conversational abilities. 

Then somehow the conversation has turned to you personally, and you can't seem to shut up about how you want to move somewhere nicer, somewhere closer to a better school for Sasha, and -- how did he get you talking about this? -- how you'd like to become an artist. He shares some dreams of his own: there's a play he wants to put on, and reading all of Sasha's pulp fiction has made him want to try his hand at writing a few of those sorts of stories himself. The conversation is so absorbing that it comes as a surprise to collect yourself and find that not only have you been talking for over an hour, you’re all the way to the other side of the gardens.

How does this man get this reaction from you? It's as if you forget yourself when you're with him. Realizing just how long you've been talking, you laugh with embarrassment. "I guess you got what you asked for and more. Does that help you feel like you know the underground a little better?"

"Oh, for certain! And you're right, there's much that can be done. I see so many possibilities, so many ways for us to help..." He takes your hand, squeezing it in both of his. "Thank you. It is just as I thought, your experience is invaluable to me." Before you even quite register that he's taken your hand, he releases it and takes out his pocketwatch. It's a pretty one, you notice, even as flustered as you are. Gold, with an elaborate monogram on the front. Rather different from Sans' plain silver one. "Hmmm... We still have time, but we would have to leave soon," he murmurs.

"Leave?"

"Well, yes. You see, there's... there's an event I thought you might have some interest in..."

You raise your eyebrows. "What is it?"

"Uh, well, I probably shouldn’t have even brought it up... it’s only that it does actually have great personal significance to you..."

You narrow your eyes at him. "You _knew_ that would make me curious.”

"I must admit I did," he says, his hands up in a playful gesture of surrender. "Here it is. Rosamond Sallariti is hosting a performance of several songs from the opera that your mother left unfinished."

Your eyes widen, and your soul aches. "Oh..." is all you can get out.

"It’s being hosted at their estate in about forty minutes. If we leave now, we would just make it." 

"I— I don’t think I should," you say, your heart wrenching. How wonderful it is to know that your mother is still remembered by her old friends, that the music that she poured her heart into is still played and enjoyed! How you would love to go! But... to be alone with Jerren...

“I know it is not your nature to place your trust lightly," Jerren says, his voice resigned. "But I fear you will look back on this moment with regret. To know you had this chance, and you forced yourself to forgo it, might eat at your soul."

You don't need him to tell you that... you're dying to go. But you just can't, you know you can't, and you cast about for excuses. "I... uh, it’s just that I really am not in the mood to be gawked at, and to make small talk with people I used to know..."

"Neither am I," Jerren says impishly. "We will sneak in. I know the estate well."

" _Sneak in_? But it would be scandalous if we were caught!"

"We won't be.”

"How do you know?"

"I do this kind of thing all the time," he says with a conspiratorial grin. "I, too, am often not in the mood for small talk."

"All right, but... We should go wake up Sasha and Adaleia, or at least leave a note. They will worry if they can’t find me..."

"We’re near the stables now, and don’t have time to walk all the way back," Jerren says, shaking his head. "But I had mentioned to Sasha and Adaleia that I might try to take all of you to this concert, and I will have one of the stable hands deliver a message to them. Once they know where we’ve gone, they won’t worry.”

"But, uh... I did not intend to stay this long in the first place... I would be imposing on your time..."

He grins playfully. "Not even you truly believe in that objection. I would be delighted to escort you there and back." He lays a hand lightly on your shoulder, just for a moment. "I had expected that we'd have at least one of your friends as a chaperone, and I'm sorry it hasn't worked out that way. But I promise that all will go well."

As so often happens when Jerren is involved, this is starting to seem inevitable. You hesitate to be alone with him, but you very nearly are already. You’re nowhere near the picnic shelter, and there are fewer people over in this section of the garden. If Jerren has some ulterior motive, some aim in mind, it is bound to come out sooner or later, whether you take this chance or not. If he truly meant to get you alone and hurt you, not only could he have done it by now, but there would be much easier ways of doing it than going to all this trouble. Whatever it is he's after, he seems to need your cooperation... or, perhaps, he really is just trying to reforge a friendship.

This is stupid, stupid, stupid, part of you warns. But you've been stupid all morning... for all intents and purposes, you put yourself in his power the moment you stepped into the carriage. All of your caution is only so that you can pretend to yourself that it wasn't as foolish a decision as it actually was. Yet, you're here... things have gone well so far... he's been respectful, charming, thoughtful and attentive... and once again, you want so badly to do this that you're willing to take a risk.

Well, why the hell not. You grin rather impishly yourself. "All right. Let's go."

He beams back as he starts to lead you towards the stables nearby. "I'm so glad you agreed!"

"How is it you always know precisely how to tempt me?"

"You have a deep capacity to appreciate that which is truly important. Which, I admit, does make it fairly easy to know what you will respond to."

"It was a rhetorical question, not an invitation to analyze me," you grumble, but you can't help but feel a little flattered.

"Habit, I guess,” Jerren replies sheepishly.

He has a quick conversation with one of the stable hands, asking him to deliver a message to Sasha and Adaleia, then leads you inside the stables and to one of the horses. "Oh, I remember you," you say to the handsome, champagne-colored animal. "Zephyros, right?" Your mythology-loving brother had been taken by the name, the personification of the West Wind who took the form of a horse to pull the chariot of the king of the gods...

"My pride and joy," Jerren says, petting him between the eyes. This clearly pleases the horse, who presses his head into Jerren's hand. "Here," he says, gesturing to the horse. You take a step forward and follow Jerren's lead, feeling the beautiful animal's smooth forehead. It tosses its mane and whinnies. "Easy, boy. Time to give this lovely lady a ride. We'll take my gig."

Jerren strokes the horse's muzzle, then places the bridle on him as easily as if he was clasping a necklace around a woman's neck. The process is incomprehensible to you, and you watch, impressed, as the bit slides into the horse's mouth and the bridle is slipped over its head, then adjusted. Everything he does, he seems to do perfectly... and you have to admit, you find expertise and skill to be sexy traits in a man. That's probably part of what you like about Sans, who's clearly very good at his work... It is a little disturbing for the feeling to be applied to Jerren, and yet as he leads the horse out of the stable and toward the carriage, you watch shyly, but with intense interest.

The horse is harnessed to the carriage, a small two-seater known as a gig, with as much skill as it was bridled. Jerren offers you a hand to get into the carriage, then joins you. "Are you comfortable? Not too cold?"

"I'm fine, thank you," you say, although in truth you're slightly chilly, as the translucent sleeves of your dress are suitable only for decoration. "Will we be in time?"

"We should just make it," he assures you, and with a flick of the reins the two of you are off. Nothing so crude as a whip for this horseman; he has one with him, but you’ve never seen him use it.

For all you said you'd hoped to avoid small talk, you can't help but feel obligated to make some more conversation with your escort. "I'm glad to see Zephyros is doing so well," you say. "I know how fond you are of him. How old is he now?"

"Nine."

"And horses can live for a good long time, right?"

"Certainly, twenty to thirty years perhaps," Jerren says, but there's something almost imperceptibly melancholy in his voice. Sad that his beloved horse's life may be nearly half over, perhaps? Or is he thinking of his father? "You know, I still have the picture you drew of him."

"Oh..." You had drawn it as a thank-you for his taking you on that outing. It's surprising -- but also gratifying -- that he'd kept it. Flustered, you change the subject. "I must say, I'm rather surprised that this concert is happening at all... I would have thought that my mother's music would have still been taboo."

"Time passes," he answers. "The stories we tell about each other change and settle into myths. As the years went by, the residents of the Courtyard softened towards your mother's memory, to some extent. By now, the general consensus is that that she was led astray by her lover, as she so often claimed, and that what she did she did out of passion and a lack of understanding of her own actions."

"So no one believes she was innocent, exactly... just stupid." You sigh. "I suppose that's an improvement."

"It's not the worst way for her story to end," he says gently.

"No... I guess it's not."

There's silence as Jerren guides the horse down the cobblestone paths, and your thoughts drift to your mother, and how her memory is now viewed... Stupid is better than traitorous, but still it's not innocent. But it soothes your heart to know that her old friends can remember her with affection, and still love her music. You still hope you can prove her innocence, but the desire seems to have reduced down to yearning, instead of a constant siren in your mind. What a day... It's about 3:30 now. On a normal day, you'd have a half hour until it was time to meet Sans, but of course it's your day off. You'll most likely see him again Monday, though...

"I wanted to say, I'm glad that you decided to come to the Courtyard in the end," Jerren says, breaking into your thoughts. "It's nice to feel like I'm doing something right for once."

"Uh, well... you did make me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"You make me sound like a gang leader!"

"I can't help but think you'd be a good one."

This seems to strike him, and his shoulders slump. "I suppose I deserve that. I, uh..." He takes a deep breath. "I know you're uneasy with me, and I -- I sometimes believe I am beyond redemption, for what I've done..."

"Don't say that," you answer, nearly automatically. "I mean, uh... you're really trying..."

"Because I have so much to atone for," he says, shaking his head. "I let my position in life turn me into a miserable wretch, and I caused you such pain..."

"I, uh... I'd like to think that even the worst person can change," you offer. It is awkward to be consoling Jerren for being so terrible to you, but what are you supposed to do? Spit on his hospitality, and his efforts at reformation, by agreeing that he was awful?

This isn’t right, something inside you warns. But you’re hard-pressed to know what else you can say. 

"I would like to think so myself." He sighs. "I will try to live up to that ideal."

You make a vaguely sympathetic noise, and fortunately, he seems content to drop the conversation there. The silence feels oppressive after a while, though, and you start to feel like you were too harsh on him. This man was apparently responsible for keeping your reemergence out of the papers, he punched someone who insulted you, and of course he brought you back to your family all morning long... Given all he's done for you, perhaps a little gratitude is called for.

"I will say, though, no one else could have put this day together like you have. You got us into the Courtyard, that's a miracle in and of itself... I mean, aren't you going to get in trouble?"

"It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission," he says with a wink.

"And you cleared out our old estate for hours! How?”

"The family had business elsewhere..."

"You already admitted you got them out of the way."

He continues as if he hadn't heard you. "And the servants had the day off..."

"That’s not how days off work."

"It isn’t?" He feigns surprise. "This concept of ‘work’ is confusing to me.”

You laugh, smacking your hand to your forehead. "Come _on_ , Jerren! You arranged lunch with my friends, and now you're taking me to this concert... I can't figure out how you pulled off any of it! I mean, this is like the perfect day, it's almost eerie..."

He grins. "So you're saying this gift horse is not satisfying to you?"

"I didn’t mean—"

"A little long in the tooth, I’m afraid. Legs a bit stubby. Quite the wrong shade of brown."

You put out your hands in playful exasperation. "Very annoying whinny, tail’s braided all wrong. Jerren, you know what I mean."

"I do. I suppose it is a fault of mine to do things in a rather theatrical way. But it does make life more interesting, doesn't it?"

"I can't argue with that," you say, smiling despite yourself. "And I have appreciated what you've done for me... more than you can possibly know."

"That warms my heart," he says, smiling back. "Now, we're almost there. I promise you, you shall have no small talk or scandal. All I ask from you is to follow my lead. Can you do that for me?"

"I -- I will try," you stammer.

"Very good. Then..."

The two of you have nearly reached the estate. Rosamond Sallariti was a patron of the arts and a friend of your mother's, but her family's position in the Courtyard hierarchy was much higher than your family's, and her estate is consequently grander. Jerren has parked the carriage at the end of the driveway, some ways beyond the other carriages, and an attendant comes running, bowing deeply when he reaches the carriage. Jerren shakes his head and slips him a folded bill with such a practiced move that you almost miss the exchange of money, and the two of them have a hushed conversation. Jerren comes around to your side of the carriage to help you out, saying in a low voice "We will not be formally announced, and should we need to make a quick exit, Zephyros will be ready for us. Now, follow me. We'll go through the gardens."

The Sallariti's gardens are nearly as grand as the palace ones, with tall hedges and and little sculptures dotting the area. You follow Jerren through the gardens until you see the back of the mansion. He directs you behind a tree, where he studies the back of the building, then points to the second floor. "I should be able to get one of those windows open. I've done it before."

"Are we seriously going to break in through a window?"

"You promised to follow my lead, right?" he says with a wink. "Besides, it's not breaking in, since they'd happily invite me in if they knew I was here."

"Uh, I don't know where you went to law school but I don't think --"

"Shhh," he says, touching his finger to your lips. "Just repeat to yourself. Breaking in is better than small talk. Breaking in is better than small talk."

You swallow. You have to admit that your submissive side just seriously responded to that move. If he had called you a 'good girl' you might have been sunk. By Jerren? You can’t forgive him— you think— you can’t trust him again— you think—and you certainly couldn’t love him— whatever he might think he thinks— but perhaps there’s some alternate universe where you might let him spank you. Wow. 

This whole day has felt entirely unreal, and this little adventure is the bizarre culmination of every weird thing that's happened. Perhaps it's that sense of unreality that leads you to murmur "Breaking in is better than small talk," rather than insist on going back to the carriage, back to your sister and friend. Why the hell not, you think again. What harm is really going to come to you, even if you're caught breaking in? You're starting to think that Jerren could talk his way out of anything. 

Just how bizarre _can_ this fairytale day get? You might as well find out. You'll be back underground soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Reader takes a chance... again. And my readers squirm and cringe... again. I know we have two members of #TeamJerren... are there any more, after this chapter? Or is everyone still #NeverJerren?
> 
> Chapter 29 will be posted next weekend... probably around the 10th. If I am feeling put upon by the universe, it may be around the 9th. That's why you're getting 28 today and not tomorrow -- my stress is your gain. (Nothing really bad happening with me or anything, I'm just having the kind of week that's vastly improved by knowing I'm making some people out there really happy <3 )
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me!
> 
> My tumblr is at [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's a calendar to chapter 28 (to be added later... I should actually add these sometime, but it's hard to feel motivated when we're going to be on the same day for ten chapters!).


	29. was it inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just for Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171692737320/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

You and Jerren look around the gardens behind the Sallariti estate, where your mother's final musical work is set to be performed soon. "It would be better if it was darker, but we will make do," Jerren muses, looking around. "Stay here." With one final scan of the area, he dashes off to a nearby shed and slips inside, then returns a few minutes later with a ladder. "This is all I need."

You giggle. "So the prince and the exile are actually going to break into the home of the Courtyard's foremost patron of the arts, just to avoid talking about the weather and the state of our health."

"You're getting into the spirit of the thing," he says encouragingly. "Come on."

This reminds you of being with Mattias; as kids, your more daring brother had a knack for coaxing you out of your shell and getting you into trouble. For years, you've left the troublemaking to your sister, and it's actually fun to feel naughty, to leave behind the identity of "responsible adult." Not with him, that voice keeps warning you, but you ignore it. You dash after Jerren, shimmying through a hedge that catches at your skirt and scratches your legs and forearms, and find yourself looking up at the side of the house, where Jerren is carefully placing the ladder. "Hold the base for me," he requests, and you keep it steady as he climbs up. You keep scanning the area, fearful of discovery, while Jerren fiddles with the window. You exhale when you hear it sliding up. Jerren climbs back down, then gestures to the ladder. "The window is open and the room is empty,” he reports. “You go first so I can keep the ladder stable for you." 

Or so he can check out your legs. But you keep the thought to yourself as you sling your handbag over your shoulder and start climbing. Trying not to flash Jerren, you wind up tumbling through the window into an empty guest room. The carpet burns your knees, and you whimper as Jerren follows you, making a much more graceful entrance into the room than you did. He pulls the ladder up behind him, then looks around and slides it under the bed. Then he notices you, and his eyes widen.

"My dear, you’re bleeding," he says, kneeling in front of you. 

"Oh... I'm fine," you say, your cheeks feeling hot. "Just, uh, I think I got some rug burn, and some scratches from that hedge..." You turn away from him, inspecting your legs. Your stockings are torn, and there's one scratch on your shin that's a little deeper than the others and is bleeding. Your mother would come back from the dead and haunt you if you bled all over Rosamond Sallariti’s guest room. You sigh and open up your handbag, looking for your first aid kit.

"You are quite well prepared," Jerren says with approval when you produce it. "Here, allow me."

He takes it and -- you are not quite sure why you let him have it -- or why you're lifting your skirt just above your shin so he can wipe down the scratch and place a bandage on it -- and you soon smooth your skirt back over your legs and stand up, feeling unsettled. It seemed to happen too quickly for you to respond, and you're not sure you wanted him to patch you up but it is nice to be attended to, to be watched over, and why is it embarrassing for a man to see your shins when the dresses you usually wear end just below your knees anyway?

"There you go," he says, handing your first aid kit back to you. He seems perfectly at his ease, as if it's the most natural thing in the world that he should take care of you. You murmur thanks and suddenly become very interested in your surroundings. "I'm sorry that our little adventure should have resulted in any harm to you..."

"Minor injuries are better than small talk," you say, unable to repress a smile.

He smiles too. "You’re a trooper." He turns to look around, while you give fervent thanks that he did not call you a good girl just now. "This door opens up to a balcony that goes around the ballroom on the first floor," he says. 

"Oh yeah... I remember now," you say, nodding. You've been to parties and concerts here before, although the architecture of the various estates all blends together, over half a decade later.

"It is mostly guest bedrooms and storage on this floor, I believe, and I don't anticipate we will have company. You should be able to watch from the balcony, as long as you take care to remain out of sight."

"That's perfect..."

"Well, not quite. There are bathrooms on this floor, and someone might come up to make use of them, or perhaps a servant may come up to this floor. If we hear someone coming up the staircase, we can retreat back inside this room. And if we have to hide, let's see...” He looks around, and his eyes light on a door. He opens it, revealing a closet with clothes stored for the winter and several pairs of shoes. "Perfect. Although I doubt we'll have to make use of it."

"You have it all worked out..."

"I usually do," he says with a wink.

There’s applause from outside, and he lowers his voice. "Once the music starts, you can go outside. But keep low to the ground, and stay near the door. You can concentrate on the music without worrying about anything. I will tap you if I hear footsteps."

"All right," you answer as the first notes on a flute trail through the air. You open the door and crawl out on your hands and knees, a little too aware you’re delivering a lovely view of your backside.

As Jerren said, this floor is essentially a balcony looking down on the ballroom below. You’re about on the same level as the chandelier, which glitters so brightly that, you hope, your face will be obscured if anyone happens to look up. You fall to your belly, propping yourself up on your elbows and getting just close enough to the rails of the balcony that you can see the stage below, where one of the Sallariti daughters is performing an aria. You sigh, losing yourself almost immediately in the music.

Your mother had preferred comic operas to the tragedies you enjoyed, so when she took a stab at a tragic love story, you felt like she had been writing it just for you. She started working on it before she was arrested but kept at it until her execution, and the more tragic her own life became, the more misery she channeled into her music. By the time of her death, her unfinished opera had racked up a rather impressive death count, and the music was so melancholy that even you could barely stand to listen to it. This song is about the heroine's conviction that when she's dead, she'll be entirely forgotten by those whom she had most loved in life, and the man to whom she has pledged her heart will marry another soon enough. When you scan the audience, you notice more than one person with their handkerchief out. Your mother certainly did know how to play on people's emotions... She would have been delighted by this response, and would have tried reworking the lines that didn't seem to have the right punishing emotional kick.

You rest on your tummy and peek between the slats of the balcony, taking in both the performer and the audience. Oh, this was so worth it all... worth going somewhere alone with a man you can't quite bring yourself to trust, worth scratching up your legs and breaking in through a window. Your mother had poured her soul into these songs, her final musical legacy, and for them to be performed posthumously feels like a promise. The complicated, flawed woman who you loved so deeply doesn't live in her daughters' hearts alone... instead, she's remembered by everyone whose spirits are touched by the music she created. And she's remembered as a tragic figure... a wayward lover, not a cold-hearted terrorist mastermind. Perhaps it's as Jerren says, that this isn't the worst way for her story to end.

You listen, enthralled, to song after song, with Rosamond Sallariti giving a quick explanation of the context before each one. How lovely it would have been if it had been finished, and staged properly... In your mother's imagination it must have been so grand, with glorious dresses and dancing and melancholy young women dying beautifully in their lovers' arms! But this approximation of her vision is satisfying enough, and you drink it all in with tears in your own eyes.

You're pulled out of your reverie by a tap on your foot. Remembering Jerren's instructions, you crawl backwards, back into the guest room, and he quickly shuts the door behind you. You exhale, but he looks panicked. "We've got to hide! Quick," he whispers, hurrying to the closet. The sound of footsteps getting closer and closer spurs you to follow him, and you tuck yourself in with him and shut the door.

Was it inevitable that you should wind up in this closet with this man? Your heart beats faster. You can't see a thing, and you're perched among a bunch of shoes... You clear a few out of the way, but even when you're able to sit more comfortably, your body is still tense. You can't see a thing, and it's such a small space! Not so small that you're touching Jerren, at least, but you're well aware that he's right there, you smell his cologne, you can hear him breathing, you can feel your combined body heat warming up the closet...

"It's probably just someone going to the bathroom, but it's better to be safe than --" Jerren starts in a low whisper, but he falls silent when the door to the guest room opens, then closes again. There's the sound of soft footsteps, then the squeak of the mattress springs. You cover your mouth with your hands. Did someone come in here to take a nap? If so, are you supposed to stay in this closet for two hours?

The mystery is solved when the door opens and closes a second time. The footsteps are heavier, this time, and the mattress squeaks more loudly as a larger person joins the one already there.

"Darling," a woman's voice breathes.

"My little peach pie," a man's voice responds.

You breathe in sharply, although you're taking care to be quiet. Are you seriously stuck here while these lovers conduct their tryst? The soft, muffled noise next to you sounds rather like Jerren smacking his hand to his forehead. The woman's voice is familiar, and you just have to look through the keyhole... Your eyes widen. That's Rosamond Sallariti, with someone who is most definitely not her husband— given that her husband is twenty years older than she is, while this man is twenty years younger. You duck back down, your mouth open in astonishment. Apparently she and your mother had more in common than just being music lovers. Jerren leans over to take a look, then falls back, his chuckle too low to be overheard outside the closet.

There's the sounds of the two of them kissing, and you feel blood rushing to your cheeks, then all through your face right to the tips of your ears. Oh my God. If they start having sex, you are just going to die right here in this closet, and then Jerren is going to be stuck in a tiny, pitch-dark space with a corpse and the experience will probably drive him mad, and then so much for there being no scandal. At least it won't bother you, because you'll be dead.

"I must have you," the man growls. "You've tortured me long enough."

Her laugh in response is low and knowing. "If the timing was right, I would give myself to you this minute... Alas, I must continue playing the hostess..."

Oh, thank God this woman believes in playing hard to get.

"So soon, my tiny plum pudding?"

"This is far too risky as it is... If my husband catches us, he'll blow your brains out!"

The man chuckles. "Well, if I cannot enjoy you yet, my most delicious of cherry tarts, I can at least enjoy the delightful music you have brought to us."

"Ceraldine really was quite gifted, wasn't she? The poor dear. I should have loved to have seen this opera properly performed..."

"Incidentally, the mystery of the slanderous articles has been solved," the man says, and your ears prick up.

"About her poor daughter? Oh, do tell!"

"Stefanson was the one who planted them! Or so I hear. The man should be fired, if you ask me." You press your hands up to your mouth, lest you be betrayed by any sound. Stefanson!

"I always suspected him! He did despise Ceraldine... First there was that terrible business with his daughter, and now this. What a dreadful man!" Rosamond sighs. "Let's have no more of this gloomy talk. One more kiss, then you go back down first..." Again, there's the sounds of smooching and giggles. Your head feels light, and your heart is pounding so hard you're certain they'll hear it. Jerren's hand feels around for yours, then squeezes it. He lets go, but almost automatically you grab his hand again, desperate for some comfort as you struggle not to break down. You squeeze his hard tight, your anguish feeling as if it could take shape and burst out of your chest. There's tears streaming down your face, and you're shaking as first the man, then the woman leaves the room. 

Jerren reaches up and opens the closet door, letting in some light. He takes your hand in both of his. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"I could _kill him_ ," you hiss, wiping your face. "I could put my hands around his filthy neck and just -- just choke the _life_ out of him, and -- and -- and _smile_ while I did it! All Papa's relatives -- all his old friends -- they looked at me like _dirt_ because of those disgusting articles! I -- I was fired from jobs, Sasha and I had to change our names --" You wipe your face again, but you're crying too hard for it to make a difference. "I hate him," you manage to get out. "He tormented my mother, he killed Theodora as surely as if he'd put a gun to her head, and he ruined my life just out of _spite_! I hate him!"

Jerren leans forwards and wraps his arms around you, hugging you to him. Overcome with frustration and anger, you sob, your head against his chest, the smell of his cologne and his warmth comforting you. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "It wasn't fair." 

You cry and cry as Jerren holds you, patting your back.

That was a conveniently timed bit of gossip, a voice inside you points out.

Just coincidence, surely? Or perhaps, if Jerren does really have some form of future sight, he divined that a conversation concerning you would take place in this room? Well, whether it was planned or not, it’s good to know— it’s another piece of the puzzle. There may be nothing you can do about Stefanson's cruelty now, but at least people are talking about what a vindictive, duplicitous snake that man is. Let his reputation be ruined, just as he ruined yours. It’s some measure of comfort.

You come to realize you're crying all over Jerren as your searing anger abates, and not only do you hate crying in front of anyone, you especially feel awkward about such a show of emotion in front of him. And he's hugging you.. oh, this is double super extra awkward. You swallow down your emotions and force yourself under control. "I'm sorry," you murmur, extricating yourself. "I just... So much could have been different if not for -- if not for what he did..."

"I understand," Jerren says, his voice gentle. "Would you like to leave? Or shall we finish out the concert?"

"I, uh... Let's just go," you say, shaking your head as you stand up. "They might come back..."

"All right," Jerren says as the two of you slip out of the closet. He gets the ladder back from under the bed -- thank goodness the lady of the house hadn't noticed -- and before long he's back on solid ground. He steadies the ladder for you, but just as your feet touch the ground, you hear someone crying "Thieves! Thieves! Stop right there!"

You freeze, and Jerren grabs your hand. "Run!" he hisses, dragging you away from the ladder. 

This may very well be the most bizarre day you've ever had, you decide as you run. You match Jerren's speed, holding your skirt up and out of your way and clutching your handbag under your arm, terrified of dropping it and having it become evidence. The man who spotted you is some ways behind the two of you, but he's giving chase, yelling in a hoarse voice for the two of you to stop.

"It’s one of the gardeners," Jerren calls as the two of you run. "Old Janson. We can lose him, just stay with me."

"I'll try," you call back, although you're panicking. How the hell did you get into this situation?

Jerren pulls you towards the grove near the estate and down a gravel trail, then off the trail altogether, picking his way through the trees and bushes. You follow him as best as you can, holding your skirt up by your knees, and are relieved when the two of you emerge onto another trail, which leads down towards a pond. The yells get further and further away as you lose your pursuer, but Jerren doesn't slow down even when you can no longer hear the man. Before long he's all but pulling you -- you're evidently not in as good shape as he is, and your chest feels like it's about to explode. Still, fearful of being caught, you try your best to keep up with him.

Your foot catches on a root and wrenches to the side. You lose hold of Jerren’s hand and crash onto the ground, crying out in pain as the gravel scratches your skin. Your handbag slips out of your grasp and falls into the pond, which makes you wail all the more. 

"Damnit," Jerren growls, turning to you and dropping to his knees. "That doesn't look good," he murmurs as he looks critically at your right ankle.

"Never mind my ankle," you gasp, although it hurts like hell. "My leaves!"

"Leaves?"

"And -- and my sketchbook, it _can't_ get wet, I— I took an impression of the grave --"

"Oh!" Without another word, Jerren stands up and wades into the pond, making his way towards your handbag. It fell amidst a cluster of lily pads a few feet away from shore, and didn't get totally soaked, you notice. You sit up, brushing gravel off of your elbows and legs, and pray that your sketchbook is all right as Jerren looks through your handbag, the water up to his knees.

"It's all right," he calls cheerfully. "Just the bottom part got wet. Your sketchbook is fine."

"Oh, thank God," you breathe as Jerren wades back to shore, your handbag in one hand and your sketchbook in his other. With the important task taken care of, you look at your poor ankle. Did you break it? The pain is sharp and intense, and it's swelling already. And you're all scratched up from your fall, and from the dash through the forest... and you can't stay here long, the estate is no doubt in an uproar looking for the thieves. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to calm down. At least you're with Jerren. It has not escaped your notice that the man is frighteningly competent.

He sets your handbag on the ground and tucks your sketchbook into his jacket pocket, then kneels at your feet, dripping water onto the gravel. "May I?" You nod, and he slips off your shoe, then inspects your ankle. You wince as his fingers press slightly into it.

"Do you think it's broken?"

"Hmm." He continues prodding your ankle. "I didn't hear anything, did you? Any popping or cracking?"

"No..."

"Does it feel numb? Or is it tingling at all?"

"No, it just hurts..."

He touches the ankle bone. "How does this feel?"

"Uh, it hurts..."

He touches the soft part of your ankle. "How about here?"

You whine and cringe, your body tensing up. "That _really_ hurts," you whimper.

"I think you've just sprained it," he says with a reassuring smile. "So the good news is that it'll heal naturally."

"And the bad news is that I can't walk on my own, everyone will be looking for us and our carriage is far away..."

"Don't worry," Jerren says, patting your hand. "The carriage is closer than you think, the Sallaritis are rather used to old Janson seeing thieves around every corner, and I'll get you out of here.”

"Thank you..."

“Don’t thank me until we’re safe in my gig,” he says with a grin. “May I?" he says, gesturing to your handbag. You nod, and he retrieves your first aid kit and starts wrapping up your ankle. You look around the whole time, terrified that the delay is going to get you caught, but he bandages you as expertly as he administers shots.

You look down at your ankle, raising your eyebrows. "I don’t know why you felt awkward about volunteering at the hospital. If this prince gig ever stops paying the bills, you could probably get a job there.“

He chuckles. “Why, thank you. Now, let’s see what you can do...”

He stands up and puts out his hands to you, and you take them, trying to get to your feet. You’re only just able to do it, and you have to lean heavily on him, with your arm around his shoulders and his arm around your waist. The two of you take a few tentative steps together. 

"It’ll be slow going, but not impossible," Jerren says. "I know a shortcut."

The word brings to mind Sans’ magic. If only he was here! He could teleport you right to your couch... Instead you’ve got a long walk ahead of you. "I'll do my best," you say, pasting on a brave smile.

The best you can do is not very good; you're quite slow, and you have to put nearly all of your weight on Jerren to keep going forward. "We'll be caught at this rate," Jerren says slowly. "Why don't we try this..."

Was it inevitable that you would wind up being carried on this man's back, your arms linked around his neck, his arms supporting your thighs? You're holding your handbag, and it smacks lightly against his chest with every step he takes. You let your head fall against his and exhale. He chuckles. "Yeah. This will teach me to try to avoid small talk." 

"Me too," you say, sighing. 

"But you'll be surprised at how quickly we're back in my gig," he says reassuringly. "Just hang on. I'll get you back to Sasha."

"Thank you..."

If nothing else, it is a lovely evening. The sun is starting to set, and there's a pleasant glow that lights up the orange and gold trees. You look around, drinking it all in. You never once appreciated the Courtyard's beauty during your childhood the way you appreciate it today, knowing that you'll be back underground soon... 

"Wonderful evening, isn’t it?" Jerren says. "We’ll be able to see the sunset soon."

"That would be perfect," you murmur.

"You must be appreciating this moment more than anyone else on the whole surface...”

"I, uh... I suppose so. I’ll be back underground soon, after all..."

"I have often thought that the threat of loss is what makes the things we love so dear to us," he says quietly. 

"You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, you mean? Maybe," you say with a sigh.

"Or until it’s regained," he says, something meaningful in his tone.

Is he talking about your reappearance in his life? You feel your face heating up, and hasten to change the subject. "You must be exhausted, carrying me all this way! Should I try to walk again?"

"No, no, don’t trouble yourself! I can handle it, and we're closer than you think. Just hang on, chickie.”

You groan. "Really, Jerren? I was hoping you’d forgotten that name.”

"I’m doing you a favor, bringing it back up," he says, his voice maddeningly smug. "You were so annoyed to hear it that for a moment, you forgot how much your ankle hurts! Didn’t you?”

You laugh despite yourself. "That’s not the point!"

"I never did understand what you found so objectionable about it..."

"It’s goofy, that’s what."

"And yet it suits you."

You growl. "No it doesn’t."

"I think it does."

"What do you know, anyway?" you grumble.

He laughs. "You'd be surprised. And speaking of surprises... look up."

You look up and gasp. "Zephyros!" How did Jerren even get here? You're all turned around, but the Sallariti estate is just beyond this point, and Jerren's gig and horse are waiting for you, attended by the footman he had paid off earlier.

Jerren helps you into the carriage, and although you grunt with pain you feel comfortable once you're settled. "You must be cold," he observes, and before you can protest his jacket is over your shoulders and he's smoothing a carriage blanket over your lap. He flicks the reins, and Zephyros trots off. You're fleeing the scene of the crime, you think with a grin. Although you bear the marks of your adventure all over your body -- scratches on your legs, tears on your skirt and sleeves, rug burn on your knees, some cuts and sore spots on your arms and thigh, tired feet and muscles from running, and of course your twisted ankle -- you feel exhilarated. You got to listen to your mother's music, one more time! You learned who was behind your suffering! You climbed through a window and hid in a closet and were mistaken for a thief, and it was all such an adventure! For all your body is complaining, you don't regret a moment of it.

"I'm afraid that didn't go exactly as I planned," Jerren says apologetically. 

"Oh, I'm still so glad we did it! It meant a great deal to me, listening to my mother's opera..."

He smiles. "Then I'm glad too. But you paid a high price for your experience. We will get that ankle looked at, of course..."

"I want to find Sasha first. She'll worry if I'm not back soon."

"Of course." He leans back and smiles. "I will say, this has been the most momentous day I've had in some time. Thank you for being a good sport about all of it."

You lean back too, sighing. "It's been a very long day... but I'm grateful for it."

The two of you continue in comfortable silence, which Jerren is the first to break. "You know... I ruined everything with you, but now it's as if things are finally how they should be," he says, gesturing expansively. "If I hadn't been so proud and stupid, we could have always been good friends, just like this."

You narrow your eyes. "Yes, if you had just listened to me in the first place, then we wouldn't have wasted so much time," you point out in a tone that's half playful, half serious.

"I've had the same thought." He sighs. "That's, uh, one of the things I've been thinking about, since... well, since I've been reexamining my life. Back when, uh, we first met."

At his birthday party nearly a decade ago, you'd watched in horror as he'd killed monster after monster. You'd been fifteen years old, carefully sheltered and not at all part of the same aristocratic circle as the people around you cheering him on -- to this day, you still wonder if your invitation hadn't been some sort of mistake or prank. Like cuckolding and prostitution, monster fighting was a taboo subject you were entirely ignorant about at the time; it was considered a party game for aristocratic men, and your parents didn't approve of it. So the brutality and cruelty you saw that day had blindsided you, and when it was over, you'd hated yourself for sitting there as if you'd approved of it, for not saying a word as creatures who were clearly intelligent and clearly terrified put up a desperate fight against the relentless prince. The final monster hadn't even fought... Knowing she would die, she'd tried to warn Jerren that he was staining his soul, she'd implored him to change his ways and find mercy in his heart. She, too, was turned to dust.

You'd never felt so ashamed... You should have done something, you should have spoken up, but you'd just sat there the whole time, frozen, shocked and unsure of what to do. When the moment of truth had come, your ideals and your image of yourself had failed you, and you now had to live with that. And then it turned out that Jerren wasn't done. He was just taking a break before one more monster was brought out, a unique monster who would serve as a special prize for the prince's seventeenth birthday. You hadn't yet lost your chance to do the right thing. You jumped into the arena, and you set yourself against a prince...

He smiles wryly. "I suppose you remember that night pretty well too, don't you?"

"That's an understatement."

"I didn't know what to make of someone I'd just met reproaching me so brazenly, in front of all my guests, and I dug in my heels without listening to you. But perhaps you were right."

You sit up and cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. "Of course I was right. It's a sadistic, barbaric --"

He laughs. "Easy there. I'm trying to agree with you."

"Oh."

"I was thinking I should give it up entirely."

"Oh!" Your eyes widen. Jerren sets the trends in the Courtyard, and if monster fights went out of favor with the aristocratic set, then there would be fewer kidnappings. "That would be wonderful!"

"Do you think so?" He smiles playfully. "What would it be worth to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I promise never to participate in another monster fight... if you give me a kiss."

You swallow. Such a large promise, just for one little kiss? Not even Sans would begrudge you doing this, you're sure, not if Jerren is sincere. After all, it's just a kiss...

That is the most manipulative way he could have possibly extracted a kiss from you, part of you thinks. And yet, you already know you won't say no.

You lean over and press your lips to his cheek, laying your hand lightly over his other cheek. He draws in a breath sharply, then puts his arm around you, crushing you to him as his lips seek out yours. Your lips have scarcely touched before he releases you, pulling away from you and focusing intently on the bridle in his hands. He's flushed and awkward as he stammers "Forgive my offense... I forget myself..."

"I, uh... no offense taken," you mumble, feeling equally awkward. He smelled so good and he was so warm and soft but strong too and oh God why did you have to like getting kissed by tall, dark and handsome human men so much? 

This isn't right, a voice inside you persists. You remember his face when he was killing those monsters at that party, nine years ago... He liked it too much, he was too good at it... and when he was informed that the final monster had escaped his face had been contorted with surprise and rage, he looked at you as if he could have cheerfully killed you instead. Even if he never attacks another monster in his life, something in him will still be the same...

Aren't you being unfair? What matters is what he does. If he goes back on this promise you'll be the first to condemn him, but if he keeps it, then that changes the world for the better, and perhaps changes something in his soul. Besides... aren't you sleeping with a killer right now? Maybe if you saw Sans in action, you'd feel just as wary of him as you do of Jerren. That book, after all, had claimed that Sans was just as happy to kill humans as he was to work with them... and the high prices he charges for his services, and perhaps his own face when he talked about the fate of the humans who had kidnapped his friends' children, seem to back that claim up. 

If Jerren is truly willing to give up monster fights, then you aren't going to hold the past against him. Whether he's sincere or not will be apparent soon enough.

"I feel... peaceful, somehow, having come to that decision," Jerren says quietly. "You see? It's good for me, having you around."

"That makes me feel like some sort of morality consultant," you answer lightly.

"Or my better half." 

You raise your eyebrows. "Now you're truly forgetting yourself."

"Do you think? We might have worked out rather well, if I had been sensible enough to make you a different offer."

You laugh. "What an optimist you are! Your mother would have garroted me in my sleep before she saw her only son paired off with a traitor's daughter."

"I'd have taken care of you," he says in a low voice that is far too serious for this light conversation.

His words send a shiver through you, but you laugh it off. "If I had never gone underground, I wouldn't be such a useful advisor for you now. Feed me stuffed grape leaves once a month and I will tell you everything you want to know."

"We'll hammer out the terms some other time," he says just as lightly. "For now, I had better return you to your sister."

The two of you lapse back into silence as the horse continues on its way back to the picnic shelter. The sun is setting, and it all seems so perfect... It truly has been a fairytale day, with your visit to your family's grave, your better understanding of your sister's heart, your reunion with Orion, your carefree conversation with your friends, and your adventure with a prince. Your soul feels clear and light, you're optimistic about the future and at peace with the past, and you're even -- dare you say it -- in a rather forgiving mood...

You lean back and smile. "I don't think Sasha's going to believe a word of what I have to say. She'll say I made it all up, and that I twisted my ankle getting out of the carriage."

"I'll confirm your story," Jerren says with a grin. "Although she may think we're both pulling her leg."

"I suppose this is it, then," you say, sighing. "Back underground just in time for dinner."

"I suppose," Jerren answers slowly. He pauses. "If that's what you want."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't see any reason you should ever have to go back down again."

Your stomach lurches as you realize the import of his words, and you stiffen. "Same terms as last time?" you bristle.

Jerren looks as if you've slapped him. "No, no, no," he says, shaking his head. "I, uh... I ruined everything, when I did that. This would make it right, don’t you see? I can give you what you should have had all along.”

"No strings attached?"

"None whatsoever. I would be honored to do this for you and your sister, after all you’ve been through."

He offers you his hand, and his eyes appeal to yours.

Is this man serious? After all these years, could you simply return to the Courtyard, as easily as that? 

It would be a perfect ending to this fairytale day... What would it feel like if, after all those years of scrambling and insecurity, you and Sasha could be taken care of? If you could return here, live among beauty, be where you belong? What an end to your exile! Sasha would be so happy... your parents would be proud that you could finally give her everything she needs... You'd spend more lovely afternoons with your friends... and evenings with a prince, perhaps, a prince who truly might love you. And perhaps you can do some good for New Ebott, if you're up here... If Jerren is serious about doing better, you can help him, you could improve the lives of so many people...

You lay your hand in his, and he puts his other hand over yours. His hands are so warm... they're soft and comforting... maybe a little sweaty...

Sans' smile appears in your mind's eye. It's not the wide grin that's his default expression, but his true smile, the sign of genuine happiness that you've seen a couple of times now.

Can you leave without saying goodbye to him? Oh, come on! It'd be like running back into a burning building to save your favorite pair of shoes! You're so close to your fairytale ending! What kind of idiot would even consider sacrificing her future just because of her silly crush on the man who's buying her body?! No, you can't take Sans into account at all in this decision, just what's best for you and Sasha. And this is clearly what's best, this is an offer that no one in New Ebott would dream of turning down! 

Yet his face intrudes... now looking, of all things, deeply skeptical... and other doubts rush in with it. 

Once you're installed in the Courtyard, once the novelty wears off, are you sure Jerren would actually listen to you? You wouldn't necessarily have the sort of influence you're assuming you would... no, not when you owe your position to him and have no power or consequence of your own. His current desire to do good could vanish as quickly as it seems to have come on, and then where would you be?

And could you really bring Sasha up here permanently? As alienated as she feels underground, you wonder if she might not feel even more so in the Courtyard. Here she'd be expected to act like a lady, and might be treated rather severely if she can't live up to that ideal...

You can do fine on your own, once you've established yourself as an artist you wouldn't be dependent on Jerren or Sans, and you'd prefer it that way... Yes, you can take care of yourself and your sister if you put your mind to it, and earlier today you had even been excited for the chance...

The more you think about it, the more you feel like you don’t actually belong here anymore. The world is so much wider than the Courtyard, and although you saw the good side of your old home today, you know that your experience was carefully controlled by Jerren. How would you feel if people were constantly gossiping behind your back, treating you not like yourself but like the traitor's daughter returned from exile? The more you think about it, the more you realize just how tedious and stifling it would feel...

You've had a day with Jerren that felt thrilling, you feel much more warmly towards him now than you did before, you even think you've forgiven him for the past... but that doesn't mean you trust him with your future.

And whatever he says now, the fact is that you'd be owing an awful lot to someone you trusted so little just yesterday that you told him to take his offer of help and shove it...

The Sans in your imagination narrows his eyes.

_You can't trust Jerren._

You intended to stay an hour or two... You ended up spending the morning here... then the afternoon... and now the sun is setting.

He arranged an experience for you that made everything feel unreal and broke you down emotionally. Then when you were at your most vulnerable, he insinuated himself back in your company, he separated you from your friends, he won your confidence, he seemed to know just what to say to get you to open up to him... He even got you to agree to something you'd have never done twenty-four hours ago: you went somewhere with him, all alone. 

Now you're injured, it's getting dark, you can't get away from him easily...

Jerren has a talent for overcoming your objections and getting you to forget your worries, but as charming as he is you've always known something in his soul is twisted... 

And right now, you're entirely in his power.

Is this a fairytale ending... or a trap?

There's only one way for you to find out.

If this man is truly reformed, if he truly wants to do right by you, then he will understand why you're turning him down, he'll take it graciously...

And if it is all a lie, you need to know sooner rather than later.

You withdraw your hand, and he looks so hurt that you doubt yourself all over again. "I'm sorry, I just can't answer right now. I, uh... I need some time to think it over..." That is, you can't give him a firm no until you're back out of the Courtyard, until there are other people around, until Sasha is safe...

"What's there to think about?" His tone is light and friendly, but with enough trepidation behind it that you feel a twang of sympathy for him. 

Any sympathy you might have for Jerren vanishes when his face contorts into a scowl. "What’s the point of trying again?" he mutters to himself. "She's _never_ going to say yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And the combined membership of #NeverJerren says "I told you so!" Hell, Reader herself is telling herself "I told you so!" But before you are too hard on her, I hope you will remember that Jerren has been working towards this day for a very long time... and putting his not inconsiderable powers of persuasion, along with other powers he might possess, towards the project. That is to say, even if this particular approach wouldn't have got you alone with him, something would have.
> 
> Not going to lie, chapter 30 is grueling. Come back on March 15th. Or come back on March 15th, read the content warnings, then come back on March 20th for Chapter 31 and the return of Sans. 
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me!
> 
> My tumblr is at [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's a calendar to chapter 29 (OK, I still haven't done these...)


	30. we shall fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171775220370/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)
> 
>  
> 
> **Content warning for severe verbal and moderate physical abuse and attempted murder/suicide.** I find this chapter legitimately disturbing; the worst of it is the first half, and after Jerren exits the scene the remaining half is not as bad. For those who wish to skip any or all of the chapter, I will summarize it in the end notes, and at the beginning of chapter 31.

Jerren turns away from you. To your astonishment, he raises his whip and strikes his horse with it, yelling "Faster, Zephyros!"

You gasp and hang on as the horse breaks into a gallop, hurtling down the hill towards the picnic shelter. "Jerren -- Jerren, _stop_!" 

What just happened? One second he's offering you the world on a platter, the next second he's furious at your rejection of him, not even giving you a chance to explain. And his demonic side emerges... just like before.

Jerren strikes the horse again, yelling "I give up! _You_ forced _me_ to give up!" Zephyros whinnies, the sound loud and shrill as his hooves clatter on the cobblestones and you get so jostled your teeth chatter. You hold on to the carriage, begging for him to stop, but he doesn't even notice your pleas.

You see Sasha up ahead, gaping at the oncoming carriage. Adaleia sees your terrified face and gets to her feet, commanding Jerren to stop. When this doesn't work, she runs into the middle of the road, holding her arms out, and oh my God he's going to kill her, he's laughing and going faster -- Sasha screams, the whip cracks -- you hold on tightly and cower with your arm over your head, bracing for the crash -- but it doesn't come, and you force yourself to glance behind you. 

Adaleia is sprawled on the grass, her mouth open in shock as she attempts to get to her feet. 

Sasha's voice breaks as she screams your name. 

The two of them get smaller and smaller as Jerren spurs his horse on.

"Faster! Faster, my pride and joy! Remember who you serve!"

You glance over at Jerren, and just as quickly turn your face away. He’s handsome and brutal, and there's wild anger in his expression. The vision is terrifying, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trembling.

"Please stop, Jerren! Please, I’ll stay in the Courtyard with you—"

"Little _liar_! You’re already planning your escape," he snarls. "There is no escape, not from me!"

You curl up, trying to make yourself small. You knew something like this would happen... He did it to you again, he got you to forget yourself, you knew, you should have known, and now... If there is a god out there, now would be an excellent time for him to make himself known. Or herself. Itself. Themselves. You cover all the bases as you pray for divine aid.

But nobody came.

"If you knew -- if you only _knew_ what you are to me -- you would fall on your knees and pray for my forgiveness," he snarls, his face contorted with anger. "You worthless—" He cracks the whip with a loud snap. "Little—" Snap. "Tramp!" Snap. "You would grovel for my mercy! And would I forgive you? No—" Snap. "No—" Snap. "No!"

"I’m sorry— I’m sorry," you whimper, cringing and cowering next to him, not entirely sure what he wants you to apologize for but willing to try it all the same.

He’s not paying attention to you. "I tried everything! I went to the most ridiculous lengths for you, I abased myself before you and your impertinent sister, I spent so much time for your sake! You touched my heart, don't you understand what that means? You ungrateful little baggage!"

The horse is galloping at top speed now, you have to hang on tight not to be thrown out of the open carriage, and you start to beg for mercy as Jerren laughs bitterly and spurs the poor animal onwards.

Far ahead of you, the path ends, and there’s a tall fence covered with barbed wire and signs. 

Signs warning all passers-by away from the edge of the surface.

"Jerren! Look out!" you gasp.

"You don't know, you can't _possibly_ understand what that role meant to me," he continues in a deeply wounded voice, not paying the slightest bit of attention to you or the rapidly approaching fence. "There's nothing as satisfying as a good redemption arc! And I embodied true penitence, I felt the deep pain of loss, I grieved with you, it all felt _so real_..."

"The _fence_ \--"

"I tried! I tried the best I possibly could! But in the end you got what you wanted, you and your bastard sister got to wallow in your show of mourning for your family -- as if their deaths meant anything, anything at all -- and I got _nothing_!" He growls. "Yes, you told me so! _Will you shut up already_!?"

Is he talking to you? "I'm sorry -- I'm sorry, but -- but the _fence_ ," you whimper. You hold on tight to the carriage with one hand and duck, shielding your head with your other arm. "Stop, _please_ , you’ll kill us!"

He laughs and cracks the whip against his horse’s hindquarters. "No, we shall fly!"

_Fly_? You gasp and pull away from Jerren, intending to jump out of the carriage, but he grabs your wrist, wrenching it. "Your fate is in my hands, chickie! You belong to me until I tire of you!"

You scream and struggle, your wrist exploding with pain, and he laughs—

He lets go of you and pulls sharply on the reins with both hands. "Woah! Woah, Zephyros!"

The horse rears back, whinnying, and Jerren slams his arm across your chest, keeping you from being thrown out of the gig. "That's better," he mutters. You scream as Jerren makes soothing noises at his horse. "Got carried away again, did I? Easy, Zephyros. I’m sorry." 

He is clearly apologizing to the horse and not to you. The carriage comes to a stop right in front of the fence as Jerren soothes Zephyros. Now’s your chance, get out, crawl away if you have to—

Jerren grabs your injured wrist before you even make your attempt to escape, and you cry out in pain. He shakes his head. "Really, my dear, don’t even bother."

He sounds so calm, disdainful even... the Jerren who ranted and whipped his horse mercilessly has vanished. This one doesn’t seem any better, though, as he turns the carriage around with one hand and keeps your wrist firmly in place with the other. You struggle to no avail.

"Do not force me to break it," he says with a calmness that chills you down to your bones. "You’re a smart girl. I imagine you’d like to conclude the day without further injury." He lets go of your wrist, smiling nastily. "Besides, we both know exactly how far you can walk on that ankle."

He's gone beyond fury... he hates you, he simply hates you for not saying yes. You knew, you knew all along he wasn’t safe, but you let yourself be charmed, you wanted what he offered you so badly...

Focus, you tell yourself, although you're shaking, you want to throw up, you're perilously close to just going to pieces. What's important now is to survive, to get you and Sasha to safety. Whether he changed his mind about going off the side, or he was just trying to scare you, either way you're still in one piece. Now you can humor him, say what he wants to hear, try to call for help if you get close to anyone and you can survive, you can survive this...

"I am truly sorry for having given offense," you murmur, bowing your head in submission. "I—"

"Oh, just shut up," he snaps. "Nothing you say now can make this better. The damage is done." He sighs. "I truly did admire the woman you’d become. You exhibited such devotion, such self-sacrifice... There's almost nothing better than rewarding the deserving, and you have no idea of the gifts I can bestow when I choose. I was going to bless you beyond your wildest dreams and yet you insist on rejecting me. And now what? What am I to do with such a damned stubborn little heroine?"

"I don’t understand," you say plaintively.

He exhales with evident exasperation. "No, you don’t. You never will. That's your curse." He studies you. "How did I get it so wrong? How did I delude myself so badly?" 

He continues to stare at you for what feels like an hour -- although five minutes is probably more accurate. You lower your eyes, your heart frozen by the calculating way he’s inspecting you. What the hell is he going to do next? Why did you ever come here? The memory of your morning at your family's graves comes to your mind... Please be with me now, you pray, knowing you're alone.

"I always do this," he finally murmurs. "I've placed countless women on pedestals, and then I come to find not a single one of them has ever deserved to be there." He sighs. "I suppose you're all only human." 

You never asked to be put on a damn pedestal... but are you going to argue the point with the man who nearly ran you off the surface? No, you are not. 

Then he shakes his head. "I give up. I will take you to the checkpoint and have someone retrieve Sasha. I will trouble the two of you no more."

Oh thank God. Even if He, or She, or Whatever, did not see fit to intervene when you could have really used help. You murmur thanks and hold your arms close to your sides, as if you might be able to make yourself so small that he’ll forget you’re sitting next to him.

There’s silence as Jerren drives Zephyros along a street, and your heartbeat slows down, you start to hope you’ll escape this nightmare carriage ride without further injury...

Until he turns to you, regarding you as if he’s a cat who’s found a particularly scrumptious looking -- and injured -- mouse. 

Uh oh.

"I was just thinking, how very fortunate that you should have been able to access that account," he says. "I know your sister feels lucky to be alive."

He's toying with you, you're sure. Does he know it's a lie? You swallow and murmur agreement.

"Why were you only able to access it now, when it was unfrozen when you came of age?" His tone is unconcerned, as if he truly is just making conversation, but your hands start to feel clammy and your heart starts beating faster again.

"I didn't even know it existed until last year, then I had to deal with some red tape. I had to prove my identity, fill out dozens of forms and save up money for bribes." 

"Really." There's silence for a moment, Zephyros' hooves clip-clopping along. "I suppose that line sounded very natural when you practiced it in the mirror, your cunt dripping with cum."

Your stomach lurches. "How _dare_ you!" you gasp.

He chuckles and pats your head. "Oh, you're so cute when you try to play the part of a lady. Go on, act outraged."

"Let me out of this carriage this minute—"

"So you can ply your trade on the streets of the Courtyard? I suppose this place looks lucrative to you."

"You’ve said quite enough," you say in your most haughty voice, although inside you're quailing.

"I’m just getting started." He looks thoughtfully at you. "You know, I punched a man for implying you were a whore. But that was when I was under the impression that you found your situation unpleasant. Yes, all this time I believed you were making a noble sacrifice for your beloved sister... How presumptuous of me, to think I could rescue a woman who didn’t in the least want to be saved!" You cringe, and he smiles. "Not quite so proud now, are you my dear? Perhaps you've already guessed. I know everything. I always did."

You swallow, your mouth suddenly very dry. "Everything...?"

"Everything," he repeats with a small smile. He lets the word hang in the air between you as your mind races. Does he know about Sans? But how?

Maybe he's bluffing, in which case the last thing you want to do is confirm whatever it is he's trying to get out of you. "If that's so, then we have nothing else to discuss," you say frostily, looking straight ahead.

"Oh, but I should like to learn more about my rival! Tell me about this mystery man who saved your sister in exchange for your body," he says, smiling nastily. You don't dignify this with a response, and he chuckles. "Will you make me play my little game instead? I understand! You must be curious to know if I can guess at his character..." Again, you remain silent, your body tense. "He is, of course..."

Jerren's voice trails off, and you mentally fill in his next two words: A monster. You brace yourself for Jerren throwing Sans in your face. He's going to remind you that he predicted this very moment, he's going to mock you for becoming the sort of prostitute that other New Ebott prostitutes look down on, he's going to savor every second of taunting you...

"A gangster," he spits. "Who no doubt made his illicit fortune from getting drugs into the hands of desperate, miserable people, or perhaps from human trafficking. Or perhaps he's a contract killer, someone who'd gut his own mother for the right price. How am I doing so far?"

You're relieved that he doesn't know that you're sleeping with a monster, but this is still going to be excruciating. "My private affairs are none of your business," you answer, looking straight ahead and doing your best to keep your voice steady. "Now that you've played your little game, I must ask that you let me out of this carriage."

"Oh, but I'm not done," he says with a small smile. "Any idiot could have guessed that you'd shacked up with a gangster. As a matter of fact, quite a few idiots did. Surely you don't think anyone at the hospital believed your story about the account?"

Your stomach turns around, and you start to feel sick. Did they guess? Every day when you visit your sister, are they all speculating behind your back about who provided the money that brought her there?

He laughs. "You really did! You thought you got away with it. How cute."

Your impulse is to snap that it's nothing to do with him anyway, but the memory of his terrifying anger is too fresh in your mind. Freeze him out, don't lose your temper, don't give him a reason to get angry at you, this has to end eventually... You continue looking straight forward. You're still wearing his jacket, and you put your hands in the pockets. Your sketchbook is still in one of them, and you grasp it like a talisman. If only Sans was here! He's down there, somewhere, with no idea of how much danger you're in...

"So, let's see... A gangster, and a dangerous one at that. But you love him, don't you?" He says this with so much contempt and disgust that you feel filthy all over. "I thought you were just humoring him for your sister's sake. Or that you'd developed some affection for him out of a sense of self-preservation, which would be quickly jettisoned when you had a better offer. But you actually think you love him. That's why you refused me."

"No, it's not," you say in a low voice. "I said no because it was the only way to know if you had truly changed. Obviously I got my answer."

He laughs. "It's not as if your mystery man is any different. Someone like him doesn't hear the word 'no' very often either, I assure you, and he cares as little for the experience as I do! Go ahead, tell him you've got a headache," he says, laying his hand on your forehead with an air of mocking concern. "See how long it takes him to replace you with a more pliant model!"

You grimace. It stings all the more because it's probably true.

You’re back in the populated part of the Courtyard now, people are looking at the two of you funny, if you yelled or jumped out you could get help, you could find Sasha and —

Jerren grabs your sprained wrist, and you shriek with pain. "You will leave this carriage when I allow you to," he informs you. "And you will not draw attention to yourself in any way until we reach the checkpoint. If I have to repeat myself, I will break your wrist."

The idea that this man has some form of future sight is starting to seem like less of a wild idea every minute. You cringe and moan as his fingers dig into you.

He lets go, and you pull back, folding your arms over your belly in an attempt to protect your wrist. "Let's return to my little game. A dangerous gangster that, against all odds, this charming daughter of the Courtyard has developed a soft spot for. How did he woo you, anyway? Did he boast about all the people he murdered? Did he tell you that out of the hundreds of whores he's fucked, your pussy was the tightest? Did he hide his cruel, nihilistic nature long enough to fool you? I must admit I'm curious, because my attempts failed so miserably." He smiles nastily at you. "It would seem that a thoughtful, giving, penitent gentleman holds no appeal for you."

You don't dignify this with a response, or even any acknowledgment that you've heard it, and Jerren chuckles. "If you insist. I can guess it without your help. Hmm." He puts a finger to his lips, looking up in thought in a theatrical way. "He's the mysterious type, isn't he? That's the sort that appeals to stupid, easily led women like you. Comes complete with a sort of superficial charm and a tragic past. Everyone else thinks he's heartless, but he's let down his guard with you, just a little. And that makes you think you know something about the real him. You're curious, aren't you? You want to know more. You want to break through those walls! Make a connection! Because surely then, he might see you as something more than a common whore!"

"Just... _please_ stop," you whisper. Your eyes are hot, but you're trying desperately not to shame yourself further by crying.

"That must mean I'm on the right track! Let's see how far I can go." He ponders the question for a moment. "If he has to buy himself a relationship, I can't imagine he's at all appealing to decent women. I might go so far as to say he's physically repulsive. Short, perhaps. Probably fat? Oh, but you'd say big-boned. You were raised to be polite."

You blink. That's... eerie.

Jerren sneers as he continues "It's all so ridiculously stereotypical... He might be a gangster, but he no doubt has a lighter side. Perhaps he's a fan of... jazz, most likely. He tells little jokes, he plies you with pretty presents. The perfume you're wearing, I suppose?"

You feel your head swimming as he talks, and your eyes start to sting, making you blink. You know Jerren is famous for this little guessing act, you saw him do it just this afternoon, but... how? How does he know?

"And he flatters you. He pretends to you that he thinks you're some sort of artist, that he appreciates you for more than your willingness to spread your legs for money..."

Tears of shame and fear start to stream down your cheeks. He -- he must have got it out of Sasha somehow, what you're doing, he must have wheedled information out of her... and now he's trapped you so he can throw it all in your face.

"...and you're so pathetically desperate, you long to believe it. Because if the man who owns you is willing to play-act at romance with you, if you can con yourself into believing he respects you, then you can pretend you're not actually the debauched, calculating whore that you are." He puts his arm around your shoulders, and his smile is cruel. "Well, let me fill you in on a little secret. To him -- to someone like that -- you'll never be more than a piece of ass. You're there to distract him. Someone like him, he doesn't care about a damn thing, and you will never, _ever_ be an exception..." 

As Jerren plucks your deepest fears from your head and flings them in your face, you start to sob. He just chuckles. "I hardly need to ask if I’m right." This only prompts more tears, and he shakes his head. "I suppose you’ve been telling yourself you’re re-enacting Beauty and the Beast. I rather pity you, for finding out you’re in a retelling of Bluebeard instead." He pats your shoulder. "You could have been Cinderella, but alas, you would rather play the hooker with a heart of gold."

You can't break down, not in front of him, you think desperately to yourself as you try to bring yourself under control. Your wrist and ankle both hurt terribly, and your head is starting to pound with pain. At least you're getting closer and closer to the wall between the Courtyard and the Concourse, you're getting closer and closer to the checkpoint...

Jerren looks at you as if you're a specimen under a microscope. "Cheer up, chickie. It could be worse. At least he’s human." He smiles nastily as he continues "Although the monster districts are probably where you’re headed, aren't they? Once your mystery man tires of you, and no one wants his leftovers. Well, as I've told you already, don't come crying to me when that happens." He takes his arm back from around your shoulders. "You know, a lesser man might have reveled in finding out how easily the woman who rejected him could be bought. How far she had fallen. How far she has left to go. But I truly do pity you... I truly did want to help you. I'd thought you were so pure..." 

A thought seems to strike him, and he studies you, then starts to chuckle. "Well... I’ve done crazier things for worse women," he mutters under his breath. 

What the hell is he talking about now? The loathing you're feeling for him right now is helping stem the flow of tears, and you wipe your eyes again. Oh, thank God, you're right by the wall now, you're at the checkpoint! Please let him do as he said, please let him release you from this torture...

He brings his horse to a stop outside the checkpoint and turns to you, smiling cruelly. " _You're_ damaged goods. But you weren't always like this. Enjoy the rest of your existence."

He shoves you out of the carriage, and you cry out as you crash to the ground. There's a sharp pain in your hip, and you land heavily on your side. You scoot backward in the dirt, trying to put some distance between you and the carriage without putting too much weight on your ankle or wrist.

"This little slut tricked me into bringing her back here," he claims to the guards. "Have someone retrieve her sister, and see to it they don't return."

One of the guards tries to get you to your feet, but you cry out in pain, pulling your wrist back and cringing on the ground. Jerren laughs. "I tried to earn you!" he yells as his horse starts to trot away. "He just bought you! Remember that when he's broken your heart!"

You start to hyperventilate, your body shaking as you watch him go. You only barely register the shift in the guards' attitude when they realize how badly you're hurt, how devastated you are. The two of them both support you as they bring you into the guard station and help you into a chair. You're all dirty, and there's blood seeping through the bright orange fabric of your gown where you hurt your hip. "What the hell did he do to her?" one of them murmurs as he looks at your wrist, then fetches a bandage and starts wrapping it up.

"My sister -- she's still out there," you stammer. 

The guards look at each other. "There's... uh... no record of two women entering the Courtyard today..."

"Jerren arranged it. So I could visit my family's graves."

"Your family's graves?" One of the guards swallows, looking more closely at you. "You wouldn't happen to be, uh...?"

"Nathaniel and Ceraldine Calandra's daughters," you fill in the rest of the sentence with resignation.

Again, the guards look nervously at each other. "This is starting to sound way above my pay grade," the one wrapping your wrist mutters as he starts to tie off the bandage. 

"Yeah, I don't know what's going on," the other one says, visibly uncomfortable. "I've never seen Prince Jerren like that, and, uh..." He glances at you. "I'll, uh, I'll go see if I can find your sister."

For his troubles, he's smacked in the face by the door flinging open. He staggers back, blood spurting from his nose, as Stefanson pushes Sasha’s wheelchair through the door. They’re followed by Adaleia, and all three of them are yelling. When Stefanson notices you, then the guard tying off the bandage on your wrist, his voice gets even louder, crashing through the small room.

"Did you forget I told you NEVER to return?! And how DARE you bring a whitepox patient here?! Who’s responsible for this outrage?" He turns to the guards, who quail.

"We, uh, we took over at noon, this was the first we heard of any of it," the guard with the bleeding nose offers in a timid voice.

"Fetch the morning guards, I will have answers!" Stefanson thunders, pointing at the other guard. The man runs off immediately, apparently glad to have the opportunity to flee the scene. "As for YOU, I don't know how this happened or what you hoped to gain by infiltrating the Courtyard, but rest assured I WILL find out and it will NEVER happen again!" Stefanson growls, looming over you.

This is just the last straw. You're shaking, but you stand up, putting your hands on your hips and looking directly at him. "I know what you did to me," you say in a quavering voice, staring him down, your mouth dry. "You're a disgusting, vindictive, petty little man."

This makes him all the more angrier. "LIES! If I knew who started that filthy rumor I'd break their nose!"

Had the gossip you heard been wrong? You consider this, then laugh hollowly. "Probably Jerren after all. Good luck punching him." You turn around slowly, taking the handles of Sasha's wheelchair for support and holding on tightly with one hand, gingerly with the other. "Come on, Sasha. Let's go."

"And don't bother banning us, you pig! We're never coming back to this _stinking hellhole_!" Sasha shoots. 

"You two stay RIGHT where you are!" Stefanson roars. "All traffic to and from the Concourse is closed until I get to the bottom of this SHOCKING breach of security!"

Good God, this man is going to be screaming at you all night, he won't be happy until he's got a written confession out of you, and Sasha needs to get back—

Adaleia interposes herself between the two of you and Stefanson. "How _dare_ you treat her like this?! When she was always such a good friend to poor Theodora, who you treated so cruelly?"

All of Stefanson's rage suddenly turns toward your friend. He grabs her by the shoulders, yelling "Do NOT speak to me about my daughter!"

Adaleia is throwing herself on her sword for you, you realize. You grit your teeth and start to limp slowly towards the door to the Concourse, pushing Sasha's wheelchair.

"You ought to be _grateful_ that someone gave that _poor, abused girl_ love and affection during her _pitifully short_ life!" 

Whew. Sword, nothing, Adaleia just threw herself on a grenade. The guard gasps, and Sasha gives a low whistle.

"That woman supported her IDIOTIC delusions," Stephanson screams. "She was NO friend to her!"

You reach for the handle. The door is locked. Your heart stops, and you look around for an alternate means of escape. You catch the guard's eye, and for a terrible second you’re sure he’s going to stop you. Then he reaches into his pocket and tosses a keychain over to Sasha’s feet. She gasps and passes it to you. As you unlock the door, the guard wipes his bloody nose with his sleeve and looks deliberately away, towards the pitched battle between his boss and your friend. Adaleia is now yelling that it's no wonder that poor Theodora tried to run away so many times, while Stefanson is now explaining to her at top volume why no one will ever want to marry her. With one final push you and Sasha slip out the door, into the Concourse. You close the door quietly. From inside, Adaleia is screaming about how he murdered his daughter as surely as if he'd done it with his own two hands, while Stefanson is threatening to frogmarch her back to her parents in handcuffs.

"You wouldn't _dare_ , you wouldn't _dare_ \--" she screeches.

There’s a click.

"How _dare_ you!"

Whatever debt Adaleia incurred to you for not being able to help you when you left the surface, she’s now paid back in full. 

"What do we do now?" Sasha asks in a tiny voice. Her expression is haunted as she looks up at you. She's holding the bundle of your clothes on her lap, and she clutches it like a stuffed animal.

"We get back to the hospital," you answer, looking around for the tram stop. "You need your next dose of medicine."

"No, I mean... _what_ do we do _now_?"

You exhale. You don't really know, either. But to her, you say "We do what we've always done. We keep going. We solve one problem at a time." Under your breath, you add "And right now the problem is... how the hell do I get you back to the hospital when I can barely walk?"

The answer is that you lean on her wheelchair and grit your teeth, limping slowly to the nearby tram stop as Adaleia and Stefanson continue their argument at the top of their lungs. A tram comes and nearly goes, but you and Sasha wave frantically and manage to flag it down. With the help of the driver the two of you are soon installed on the tram, and it speeds away from the wall between the two halves of the surface.

Sasha lays her hand lightly over your injured one. "I’ll kill him someday," she says in a low voice. 

You can’t help but laugh, although it’s bitter. "We’ve got in enough trouble today. Let’s not start planning an assassination, too."

"Not today. Probably not for a long time. But I promise, someday I’ll make him regret what he did to you."

"I don’t think he’s capable of it." You put your other hand over hers. "We’re both still here. We got out of there. That’s what matters."

"What matters is disemboweling that scumbag with a butter knife," Sasha mutters.

It’s a pleasant image, and you dwell on it as the Concourse zooms by, as it beats dwelling on the pain coursing all through your body, or the horror you endured today. The sun is nearly gone, and it’ll be late by the time you’re back underground... because you have to have a difficult conversation with Sasha first. You glance at her, fearing what she’s going to tell you. Her jaw is set, and she looks forward, her gaze far away.

At the terminal, you switch trams to get to the hospital. Even with the help of the driver, your ankle and wrist sear with pain as you limp the mercifully short distance between stops. Once you’re settled on the second one, Sasha turns to you. "Uh... so what actually happened?"

"We’ll talk about it once we’re back to your room," you say wearily. "But long story short... uh, you know how I once told him he always acted like the star of his own personal play?" Sasha nods, and you continue. "Well, his lead actress didn’t like her lines, and she refused to play her part."

"And then the star turned into a psychopath," Sasha growls. "Well, I guess you can say ‘I told you so.’"

"I was taken in too," you say, shaking your head. "I just... I wanted what he was offering so badly..." You feel sick to your stomach, remembering it all, and your eyes fill with tears again. "I was so stupid, Sasha..."

"You’re the biggest genius in New Ebott compared to me," she mutters.

She definitely told him about Stepstool Man. Your stomach lurches. Thank God you didn't tell her he's a monster. You wipe away tears, remembering all the horrible things Jerren had said to you. How much worse would it have been if he had known?

You've relived the conversation several times by the time you get to the hospital. Happily, once you get there you meet one of Sasha's nurses near the entrance; seeing your plight, she has someone else take Sasha back to her room while she finds you a pair of crutches. Although she asks how you got injured, you demur, making up a story about falling down stairs which you doubt that she buys. But you thank her for the crutches -- your ankle is killing you after your trip back from the Courtyard, and you have no idea how you'd get back underground without some support.

Finally, it's just you and Sasha in her room. She's been changed back into her nightgown, and she lays back on her bed, closing her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs.

"We're safe," you say, although it feels like the least amount of comfort you can offer. You take off Jerren's jacket, remove your sketchbook from the pocket, then fling the jacket across the room. It hits the wall and slides down into a corner. Next comes your orange gown, which isn't nearly as gorgeous now as when you put it on; it's dirty, torn and there's blood on the hip. You examine the nasty cut where you fell out of the carriage, which looks as if you cut your hip open on a rock. For the third time today, your first aid kit gets pressed into service, and you fix yourself up as best as you can with the leftover supplies. Once you're done, you sigh and hold the dress out in front of you, shaking your head. Putting on your homemade dress feels like coming home.

You sit next to your sister and take her hand. "We've got to talk, Sasha. What did you tell Jerren?"

She looks down. "I, uh... I didn't mean to tell him anything." She glances up at you; seeing your face, she cringes, and tears come to her eyes. "I'm so sorry..."

You shake your head. "I didn't mean to stay in the Courtyard more than an hour or two. I didn't mean to get separated from you and my friends. I didn't mean to break into Rosamond Sallariti's estate."

Sasha breaks out into high, nervous laughter. "You did what?"

"You heard me," you say with a wry smile. "The point is, Jerren manipulates people, he gets them to do what he wants, it's like breathing to him. He did it to me too, ok? So... I understand. I'm not mad." Well, not too mad, anyway. "Just tell me what you told him. All right?"

"I didn't exactly tell him anything," Sasha admits, looking away. "He guessed."

"Of course he did," you mutter. You take a deep breath. "Tell me what happened," you say quietly, patting her hand.

"He said he was really worried about you," Sasha admits, patting away tears gingerly from around her eyes with a tissue. "He said he'd been looking into things, and if there'd been an account, he'd have found out about it. So he thought... maybe you'd got mixed up in something dangerous. He asked me if I knew anything about it."

"So... you told him everything."

"No!" Sasha snaps. "Do you think I'm stupid?!"

"Jury's still out on that," you snap back. Immediately you wish the words unsaid -- she recoils as if you've struck her, and tears fill her eyes. "God, Sasha, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that --"

"It's true," she wails.

"Well if it's true for you it's true for me too," you insist. "I'm the one who kissed him of my own free will."

This gets her attention, and she stares at you as she sniffles. "You... uh... wow. I guess we really _are_ both idiots."

"Yeah," you sigh, shaking your head. "I'm sorry. I -- I'm not thinking right anymore. I haven't been thinking right all day..."

"No, I mean, I understand," she says in a meek voice. "It's all right."

It's not all right -- you're really in bad shape, if you're snapping at Sasha like this -- but you can't unsay it. "So... he asked you if you knew anything... What did you say?"

"I didn't tell him anything. He told _me_ he thought that maybe... you'd made a deal with someone dangerous. I, uh... I might have nodded." You exhale as she continues "And I told him..." She looks down. "I was worried about you too. And..."

"And?"

She swallows and tears come to her eyes again. "He understood exactly how I felt. Like you'd sold yourself to some murderous sex maniac who didn't care about you at _all_ , just to try to save me... and it'd be all my fault if something happened to you."

"He _said_ that?"

" _I_ said that," she snaps. 

"Sasha, you know that's not true," you say, feeling defeated.

"No, I get it now, I understand why you did it. You couldn't live without me, right?" You nod. "But, uh... what happens to me if I have to live without you?" She starts to sob. "I know -- I know you think you understand how I feel, but you really don't... I, uh... I know you don't remember what happened that night, but... uh... I do... I heard the shot and -- and I knew you were dead, I knew it, I wanted to go down and get shot too so we could stay together but I was too chicken, and then I saw you and I thought you were a ghost, you were all bloody and -- and your eyes were weird, and --"

You recoil, a shudder going through your whole body. "Stop! Stop, Sasha!" you gasp.

"I'm sorry... I'm not trying to make you remember, I just... I'm never going to forget that night, and I just don't want anything like that to _ever_ happen to you again..."

"I know... I know," you say, hugging her. "I'm sorry..."

"I just wanted everything to be all right for once... I thought I could fix things if I could just get you up here for good..."

You blink. That... surely doesn't mean...

"Sasha... have you been trying to set me up with Jerren?"

She nods, making a little whimpering noise.

"So... The trip today?"

"It was my idea..."

You take another deep breath as she sniffles, clinging to you. "So... that manipulative, scum-sucking wretch made you think he loved me..."

"And that he could protect you, and make everything better..."

"So he used you, just to get to me..."

"And it worked," she moans.

"Damn him," you say slowly. You put so much feeling into the words that if you did have any sort of divine powers, Jerren would be a smoldering pile of cinders right now.

"Damn him!" Sasha agrees with equal feeling.

"Damn it, damn it, _damn_ it!"

" _Damn it, damn it, damn it_!"

You take a deep breath. "Damn it!"

"Damn, damn, damn," Sasha growls.

"Damn."

"Damn." 

The two of you sit together in silence for a moment, and at least for now things feel better, with Jerren thoroughly damned and the two of you back on the same side.

But now you're calmer... you realize something doesn't add up.

"So... He guessed that I'd made a deal with someone, and you nodded. Right?"

"Yeah," she admits.

"But you didn't tell him what Stepstool Man looks like? What sort of person he is?"

"No... I mean, of course not..."

"About how he loves jazz, and tells jokes...?"

"No...?"

"Then how did Jerren know?"

"What do you mean, he knew?"

"He cast it all in my face, the kind of person I'd got the money from... that he was probably short, big-boned and all that... Everything I'd told you, he knew..."

Sasha's eyes open wide, and her voice drops to a horrified whisper. "I didn't tell him any of that."

The same thought strikes both of you at once. You look at each other in dismay, then both put a finger to your lips.

You start searching. She follows you with her eyes, looking as if she's going to throw up. There's nothing -- nothing behind the pictures, nothing hidden in the furniture, nothing tucked under the curtains. Nothing that you can find, anyway. Which doesn't actually mean there's nothing... you would have to tear the room up to find the kind of technology Jerren has access to.

You turn towards Sasha and shake your head, holding your hands out in a gesture of frustration. She looks down and grimaces.

You're both thinking of the same thing: listening devices were used against your mother, to provide evidence of her devotion to the leader of Open Skies. But if there's one in this room, you can't find it.

Sasha makes a motion as if she's writing something. You sit next to her and open your sketchbook to the back page. She takes it and writes shakily:

\- I don't understand what's going on. I thought he loved you.

You shake your head, taking the paper and writing with some difficulty:

\- NO.

You underline this three times, scowling. Then you continue writing:

\- I'm sorry. He was manipulating you all along.

She looks as if she might throw up. She writes:

\- But why would he _do_ all this? Is he obsessed with you?

You put out your hands and shrug, hoping to convey that you have no idea what the hell is going on with him. It's not really a conversation you want to have through writing when your wrist hurts this badly, and you point to it and lightly rub it, grimacing. She glares at it, smacking her fist in the palm of her hand with as much strength as she can muster, then scribbles:

\- THAT WORTHLESS PILE OF SHIT.

As her substitute mother you'd usually scold her for using such language, but this time it makes you giggle and even feel relieved. She might have been conspiring with Jerren... but at the end of the day she's always going to be on your side.

She underlines it three times, then draws a cartoon turd and an arrow labeling it "Jerren." She adds several stink lines and some flies, then writes:

\- What now?

Good question. A very large part of you is tempted to flee the country... or at the very least, go back underground and stay there forever. You shrug and shake your head wearily. She writes:

\- Talk to S.M.?

Oh, so she _likes_ Sans now, you think with some annoyance. But it must make sense from her point of view... now that Jerren's revealed himself to be a villain. The guilt she felt before must be nothing to how she's feeling now, and she's probably desperate to find you allies, since she can't act directly. You consider this. It's not a bad idea. Hasn't Sans even mentioned finding listening devices before? It's just that... there's no way you could possibly explain. You write:

\- Maybe.

Sasha leans back, looking out the window. Then she sits up and scribbles:

\- IF THAT SON OF A BITCH COMES BACK IN HERE I'M GOING TO OPEN UP SOME PUSTULES AND SMEAR PUS ALL OVER HIS STUPID FACE.

It's eight o'clock already... visiting hours are now over, as the nurse informs you. Your heart feeling heavy, you give Sasha one last hug and start making your way back underground. You feel like Jerren is going to accost you any second, as if he's hiding behind every bush and lurking in every alley, and you're in a state of high alert the whole time, paranoid of every face. Does he have someone following you? Is he spying on your sister? He must be obsessed with you, but what does that mean for you now? What is he going to do next?

You get in a taxi, and when the driver asks where you want to go, you pause. You could go home... but everything in you is telling you to go to the apartment where you meet Sans. It's safe there... Not even Jerren can get in, not with Sans' magic protecting it. There's no way he could get you in there, no way he could be listening in. Even if someone is following you right now, they already know about the second apartment and can't follow you inside. Even if it's _him_ following you somehow, even he can't break in, can't hurt you again, not there... 

What if Sans shows up, you think with sudden alarm. He came there to hang out last weekend... You don't want him to know about your injuries, because what could you possibly tell him?

It's a risk you're willing to take... The previous week, he'd been mortified to meet you there. He wouldn't possibly want to have it happen again this week.

You're flooded by relief just to see the apartment building; it's a hell of a chore to get up the stairs with your crutches, but it's all worth it the moment you shut the door. Overcome with relief, you prepare two packs of ice in kitchen towels for your wrist and ankle, then curl up on the couch, feeling gutted and exhausted. He trapped you... Jerren _trapped_ you and -- and everyone knows you're a whore... They don't all just look at you oddly because of your mother, no, it's because they know... and Sasha's just had her faith in humanity sorely shaken, she truly did trust him... and he knew just what you most feared, he cast it in your face...

All that he's done, all this time, was it just to try to get what he couldn't have the first time? He enlisted your sister, got you used to the idea of his being in your life, being reformed... He took you to see your parents and Matty... He even got you to kiss him... You shake with revulsion and fear. Oh, God, he had you just where he wanted you.

And you still said no.

His pride must have been wounded to the core, judging by his reaction. And all of a sudden the mask fell. Of _course_ he was manipulating you from the start! You always knew that's how he was. He was so goddamn good at it that you let yourself believe he'd changed... The man is an actor, just like Sasha said. How could you have been so stupid, so easily fooled, so flattered by someone you knew was dangerous and vindictive... 

You keep revisiting the conversation, the casual way he prevented every attempt at escape, as if he wasn't even noticing what you were doing. He'd seemed so... alien, somehow. Like he hadn't even been talking to you, like everything you did was beneath him. Even now, even in the total safety of the apartment, it scares the hell out of you to remember how he acted. It felt like the third time, now, that you've seen the true Jerren. At that party... when he first asked you to be his mistress... and now. If only you'd avoided him forever after that first time... You'd tried, and he kept wearing you down. He kept appealing to your good nature, he was fun and charming and thoughtful... Just like _this_ time... Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You see every part of the manipulation so clearly now. If he'd approached you directly, you would have been on your guard, you would have scorned even an offer to take you back to the Courtyard. You _never_ would have let him back in. But he got to you through your sister... He laid the groundwork so patiently, using her to deliver the message that he'd changed, that he still had feelings for you... He'd won her loyalty and forced you to reveal your secret to her, then humbled himself to repair the relationship between the two of you. He used the pain of your cruel loss to get you to spend time with him... offered you the only thing you could possibly want, and created conditions where you trusted him just enough that you would say yes... he put you through an experience that gutted your emotions and brought down your defenses... and after spending all this time laying the groundwork for you to see him as a reformed man, he tried to make you feel comfortable with him again. 

And the hell of it is, it _worked_. By the end of the excursion, you were relaxed, you were laughing, remembering the old days, feeling grateful to him, forgiving him... 

You even kissed the fucker. At the time you'd reveled in his lips, his warm hands, his smell... Now the memory fills you with revulsion. You let him put his filthy hands on you, you enjoyed it... and that's when he made you that offer. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You curl up on the couch, closing your eyes as you castigate yourself for being so gullible, so easily led, so _stupid_... You relieve the events of the last few days and ruminate on your failure. God knows you have enough to think about. Well, at the very least, you don't have to explain all of this to --

"kid?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary:  
> Jerren flies into a rage and starts whipping his horse into a frenzy. After nearly running down Adaleia, he makes for the edge of the surface, raging about his frustration and how Reader doesn't know what he is to her. When she tries to escape he wrenches her wrist, spraining it. He stops his horse right before they crash through the fence and abruptly calms down. He talks about how he genuinely intended to reward her for her devotion to her sister and about his habit of placing unworthy women on pedestals, then starts toying with her, revealing that he knows she's sold herself to a gangster and guessing, with great accuracy, about the man's appearance and personality. He tells her that although she might believe herself in love with this man, she will never be more than a whore to him... but at least he's not a monster. As he pushes her out of the carriage, he says that although she's now damaged goods, she wasn't always, and that she should enjoy the rest of her existence. The guards at the checkpoint between the Courtyard and the Concourse have sympathy for Reader, bandaging her sprained wrist. Stefanson, the Courtyard head of security, shows up with Adaleia and Sasha; he's enraged about their having entered the Courtyard, and denies having placed the slanderous articles about Reader. He intends to keep them there until he knows what happened, but Adaleia distracts him by accusing him of being abusive to his deceased daughter, and one of the guards gives Reader and Sasha the key to the door, allowing them to slip away. They return to the hospital, where Sasha admits to having confirmed Jerren's guess that Reader was involved with someone dangerous. She had been trying to set Reader up with Jerren to protect her from the danger of being involved with a gangster, due to her memories of the terrible night where she believed Reader to have been killed. But Sasha denies telling Jerren the details of Stepstool Man's appearance and personality, and she and Reader both assume the room is bugged. Reader returns underground, where she takes refuge in the apartment which Sans has protected with his magic. She assumes that because it's her day off, she won't meet him there... and she's wrong.
> 
> I'm sorry. This was a grueling chapter, wasn't it? When I started writing pure smut between a broken Sans and a blank slate Reader, I had no idea I'd wind up writing out what it looks like to really, really piss off the anomaly.
> 
> For the record, Reader faults herself for being manipulated, for not responding in a different way, for walking with eyes open into the trap. In this chapter, and in future ones, she will castigate herself as stupid and easily led. (Sasha feels the same way about herself, too.) In a situation like this, especially for those of us socialized to please other people, push down our own instincts and not make a scene, I think it is common for people to blame themselves and assume that they could have changed the outcome if they had acted differently, if they had been stronger, wiser or more cautious. It's a way to take back some control, in a warped way, or an outlet for anger that isn't safe to turn onto the person who deserves it. I write Reader like that because it is her honest reaction to what happened, but she has nothing to blame herself for. She was targeted by a predator long ago, and she is now trapped in a cycle of abuse. 
> 
> And frankly, although Jerren's power over time gives him a hell of an advantage, plenty of his tactics are common as dirt. To write the Courtyard sequence, I drew on pick-up artist techniques and my notes from reading The Gift Of Fear and Why Does He Do That, among other things. He hits all the classics -- love bombing, mirroring, loan sharking.
> 
> Now is probably a good time to remind you that APJFM has a happy ending; Jerren gets what's coming to him. But things will get worse before they get better.
> 
> Chapter 31 will be posted on the 15th. If I can wait that long.
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me!
> 
> My tumblr is at [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's a calendar to chapter 30 (still to be added later -_-).


	31. back you up, or take care of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171903129860/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

Your eyes open wide, and you yelp, a shock going through your body. Sans is looking down at you, his brow furrowed.

First you thought you could go with Jerren to the Courtyard and come back unscathed. Then you thought Sans wouldn't possibly show up at the apartment on your day off, not after he was so embarrassed by meeting you here last weekend. Well, you're now two for two in terms of being completely and totally wrong today.

"Uh... Sans?" You sit up, rubbing your eyes.

"hey there. didn't forget what day it is, did ya?" He's holding an envelope, which he shifts from hand to hand.

"No -- I, uh... I'm sorry, I can leave, if, um, if you want to listen to some music or something..."

"nah, i was just dropping off rent for this place and, uh, what i owe ya for october." He wiggles the envelope. 

"Oh! Uh... tomorrow's the first? Already?" you stammer.

"happens every month, y'know." He frowns, studying you.

* _it's her day off and she's here._

* _her eyes are haunted. something is seriously wrong._

* _and... crutches? bandages? all those scratches? cologne?_

* _what the hell happened to her?_

His eyes scan your body; they slide down your arms to your wrist, down your scratched-up legs and to your ankle. Then back to your wrist, and his eyes narrow. "lemme take a look at that."

"It's -- uh, it's really nothing..."

He sets the envelope on the table and approaches you, sitting on the couch next to you and taking your wrist in his hand. He's being gentle, but you wince at his touch. He undoes the knot on the bandage, unwrapping it with great care. 

"Um... It's all right, Sans," you say weakly.

"shhh," he replies as he lets the bandage fall to the floor. You both look at your swollen wrist.

He runs his fingers lightly over your skin as he studies the injury.

* _this has just become my business._

He looks up, focusing the points of light in his eye sockets on your eyes.

"who did this to you?" 

His voice is low, calm... and chilling. If you'd been injured by someone underground, and you gave Sans his name, you wouldn’t lay great odds on that person’s long-term survival.

Well, damn! This is just why you didn't want to see Sans tonight. You can't explain what happened without giving away your secret. Not only do you _really_ not want to cap off one of the longest, most awful days of your life with a conversation like that, it would almost certainly lead to him breaking the deal. After all, you'd be a liability to him, or he might resent you for your past. You could lose everything, and for what? Even if he knew everything and still wanted to help you, what the hell could he actually do about it? Find some way to get to the surface and retaliate against the prince of New Ebott? District six had been destroyed for a whole lot less than that.

You shake your head. "Uh... It's, um... well, it's a long story..."

"i've got time."

You're not sure what to say to this; he doesn't say anything else either, and the silence starts to make you uncomfortable. "Um... I'm sorry, I didn't want to get you involved. It's really nothing to worry about."

His expression darkens.

* _this is improbable, but if i can entertain the theory that the anomaly killed pap because it wanted to fuck with me, i can't discount the possibility that it is now harassing my girl to fuck with me._

* _the day she was so upset and yesterday, when i couldn't read her well, were both days with significant amounts of activity. of course, it’s also been extremely active on days where she’s seemed perfectly normal. so it's almost guaranteed to be a coincidence, but it's still something to consider._

* _considering how careful i've been, i don't know how it would have found her even assuming it has the inclination or the ability to keep tabs on me. but it IS the anomaly, and i don't know exactly what it's capable of. we've gone through this month enough times that i could have slipped up somehow in a timeline i don't even remember. or this one, possibly when i retrieved her handbag? unlikely, that was the day she was so upset, and i bet that incident and this one are connected._

* _this is almost certainly the work of some dirtbag ex-boyfriend, an abusive family member or some random guy who gets off on harassing women. but... i've got to be sure._

"there's some fella giving you trouble, isn't there?"

Your eyes slide down to your wrist. "No point denying it, is there?"

"not really."

You shake your head. "Look... I don't want you to worry about it, Sans. It's just... someone I used to know. I can deal with him." But even to you, you don't sound convincing. 

* _welp, whatever this is, it predates me. and it's unlikely a random call girl is on a first-name basis with the fucking anomaly. so that's not it, at least._

* _which leaves me with a more mundane problem._

He looks down at your wrist, then back at you. "are you sure about that?"

Your throat feels tight. "Um... I... Really, it's not that big of a deal, I'm probably overreacting --"

There's something dangerous in Sans' expression. "some man put his dirty hands on you and you say you're overreacting? come ON, kid. tell me what happened."

"I -- I can't..."

"why not?" 

Because the man who hurt you is untouchable... and because even the thought of revealing who you really are scares you to death. What can you possibly tell him?

"It's personal," you manage to say, on the verge of tears. 

Anger flashes over his face. "personal? someone hurt MY girl. you don't think THAT'S fucking personal?"

Oh my God, Sans looks terrifying when he's angry. You gasp and involuntarily recoil, your body tensing up and your heart beating faster. "I'm sorry," you squeak, cringing and shrinking into the couch.

Sans lets go of your wrist and stands up, pacing in front of you with his face turned away.

* _for fuck's sake get AHOLD of yourself, sans._

* _the last thing that's going to help right now is making her scared of you._

"I, uh... I don't mean to be trouble," you say in a tiny voice, curling up on the couch and watching him anxiously. You came here because it was the only place you felt safe, and now you've pissed Sans off too...

"it's not that," he answers in a strained voice as he continues to pace. "just lemme think a minute."

* _i can't bully her into telling me what i want to know._

* _well, i could. but by the end of it she'd never look at me in the same way again._

* _thing is, this is bringing up some very strong... feelings, or urges, or something. i'm finding it hard to think through things._

* _i thought i'd deal with rent and her payment before going back out there tonight. her wrist sprain isn't all that bad, most of the scratches are pretty light, that ankle is probably the worst of her injuries if she needs crutches for it... by monday she'd have healed a bit, recovered her composure. she'd have tried to keep it from me, maybe come up with a cover story... i would have noticed something was wrong, to be sure, but she might have been able to fake it enough that i decided it was not my business. it's only coincidence that tomorrow is the first and i met her here, instead..._

* _something happened, and she came here on her day off. the obvious inferences are that either she was hoping to meet me, or she doesn't feel safe in her own home. but she was dismayed to see me, and she doesn't want to talk about whatever happened... so i don't think she came here to ask for my help or play on my sympathies._

* _she must have known i'd be angry about someone hurting her... she intended to hide it from me, and she's certainly not opening up to me now. why? is she protecting the man who hurt her, worried about what i'd do to him if given the chance? that's a natural response if he's a family member or someone she's got a history with._

* _a natural response... and a goddamn frustrating one. i've been making a conscious choice to not poke into her business, but i'm so damn tempted to snoop around a bit..._

* _no. i'm buying her time, not her soul._

* _but... i said i'd take care of her._

* _didn't mean it like THAT when i said it though._

* _i know it's not my business. i can't make her ask for my help. but..._

* _i can at least make the offer._

You don't take your eyes off of Sans as he paces back and forth. Now you've done it, you've pissed off not one, but two terrifyingly powerful men today, and the room is soundproofed, no one knows you're here, if you made a run for it, how far would you get? Probably about as far as you got with Jerren. Sans seems to have gotten control of himself, but he could just be deciding on the best way to interrogate you. No, no, you're being too suspicious, too quick to mistrust him... right?

He sits on the couch next to you. The anger you saw before is gone, although he still seems grave. "can i try something? it'll help you feel better."

You're still petrified by the anger he'd displayed, your muscles tense. But this is Sans, you trust Sans... you think... he didn't mean to scare you... you think... "Uh... sure..."

Sans takes your wrist in both of his hands. He closes his eyes, appearing to concentrate, and there's a faint blue glow between his fingers. His magic feels so good on your sore wrist that you start to relax, and even as stressed as you are, you smile.

"Um, Sans... are you healing me?"

"well, i'm trying," he grumbles. "shhh. gotta concentrate."

You've never actually seen Sans use his magic for any practical purpose, just for sex. Somehow this strikes you as an equally intimate experience. That book had called a monster's magic an expression of their soul... so in a way, he's now devoting his very soul to healing you. The flash of anger you'd seen earlier had scared the hell out of you, but this is starting to make up for it.

Sans remains in that pose of complete concentration for a full quarter of an hour, entirely quiet and still. You watch the process with fascination, your fear of him dispelled. Jerren had made such a show out of taking care of you today -- putting you in jeopardy in the first place, you realize, then acting like such a big damn hero for applying a bandage, or comforting you, or carrying you, how could you have been so stupid... But Sans healing you feels like the real thing. Which is deeply ironic, you remind yourself, because this man is buying your body. Of course he has a vested interest in keeping it in one piece.

The glow fades as he opens his eyes, and he shakes his head, still holding your wrist. "i'm sorry. i never could heal for shit."

* _which is frustrating as hell. with as much innate magic as i have, i would expect it to be well within my capabilities. but my nature resists it, and it’s uncomfortable for me to even try._

* _that does makes a twisted kind of sense. i was designed to be a living weapon... and i can never be in a situation where i need healing._

He moves his hand off of your wrist, showing that it's less swollen than it was before. Although he's clearly disappointed with the outcome, you beam. "But... you healed me a little bit, right? That's amazing!"

He shrugs. "there's monsters who coulda erased worse damage in half a second. i'm not one of them."

"Thank you, though..."

He's silent for a minute, still holding your wrist. When he starts to talk, there's an intensity in his expression and voice that startles you. "i'm not gonna pry into your personal life against your wishes. you didn't give up your right to privacy just because you got involved with me. but i want you to remember, you're my girl. if anyone's fucking with you, you can always come to me. i'll back you up... or take care of it. whatever you need."

Wow... so this is Sans in freelancer mode. It's actually pretty hot. "Uh... thank you, Sans," you say, starting to smile. Granted, it's impossible for him to do anything about Jerren, and you really don't want him to know you're from a place where they kill his friends for fun. Still, the sentiment warms your heart. 

* _there's something resigned about her expression. she's convinced i can't help her._

* _for fuck's sake, she seriously thinks this guy is worse than the bullshit i deal with on a daily basis? she's proud as hell, i'll give her that._

"so... if there's anything i can do for you, you'll let me know. right?"

You consider this as he places his hands back on your wrist and the blue glow starts up again. This time, it flickers.

* _she could ask me for advice. i'm full of great suggestions._

* _'sans, could you please blast his soul straight to hell?'_

* _'sans, could you just make him disappear?'_

* _'sans, could you break every bone in his worthless carcass, starting with his left wrist and ending with his skull?'_

* _'sans, could you make his last minutes really, really HURT? for me?'_

* _and there's no reason any of those have to be exclusive._

He takes his hands off your wrist, his expression dark. "sorry. gotta, uh... be in the right frame of mind for healing." He shakes out his hands. "gimme a second an' i'll try again."

* _this time with less thoughts of murder going through my head. not exactly conducive to healing._

"Uh... there is... one thing you might be able to help with," you say tentatively.

The spots of light in his eye sockets brighten. "yeah?"

"I was wondering... what would you do if you were in a room that might have some sort of... listening device in it?"

* _what the hell is this woman mixed up in?_

He stands up, starting to pace in front of you again. "well... depends on the context. i have a habit of checking for that kinda stuff automatically. if i find something like that i'd likely destroy it, use it to feed whoever's listening some fake information or write instead, if i want whoever's listening to think that i missed it." He stops to look at you, raising an eyebrow. "ya think this guy's listening in on ya?"

"I might just be being paranoid, but it's a possibility..."

"there are situations where paranoia's a perfectly reasonable reaction," Sans says, shrugging. "if you'd be comfortable with it, i can check your place for bugs."

"Uh... it's not my apartment I'm worried about..."

* _she looks decidedly uncomfortable. so it's somewhere she often goes, that i can't go to or she doesn't want me to go to._

He considers this, then nods. "gotcha. how 'bout this... if it's somewhere you can be alone for 'bout two minutes, i can create something that'll do the job. a bit of my magic that's attracted to listening devices. it'll scan the room and light up if it finds one."

"You can _do_ that?"

He grins. "thought i told ya. i've gotten pretty creative with my magic use, last few years."

You consider the difference between what might be used underground and the more advanced surface technology. "That would be perfect, but, uh... could it find something... really small?"

Sans frowns. "you think this guy has access to surface tech?" 

"It's, uh... it’s not out of the realm of possibility."

* _she did grow up upper-class, she very well might have been acquainted with some powerful people. is this guy a politician with surface ties, maybe? tech ceo or someone who works up on the surface? gang leader with friends in high places and a taste for illegal tech? or the spoiled kid of someone like that? that sounds pretty likely to me._

* _that would explain why she’s so spooked. if it's someone with that kind of clout or resources, she might truly believe i can't help her._

* _but still, i wouldn't have expected her to even KNOW about the kind of spying tech developed on the surface. this may not be the first time this guy's used this tactic against her, or maybe she had a parent who worked on the surface developing this kind of thing. would explain why she could identify that record player as surface tech so quickly, too._

"sure. the tech might be more complex but the underlying patterns are the same. i've dealt with shit like that before."

"I would really appreciate that..."

"well, then." He holds his hand out, palm up. "ya got a favorite kind of insect?”

You consider this for a moment. "Luna moths."

He closes his eyes. A sphere of blue magic the size of a golf ball forms and hovers above his palm, then flattens itself out and elongates into a cylinder form, unfolding graceful wings with long, fluttering tails. Its antenna quiver, and its delicate wings flutter in Sans' palm. He opens his eyes again, inspecting it. You lean forward, fascinated by the beautiful blue moth he's created. He displays it to you, evidently pleased by your interest, then closes it in his hand. When he opens his hand again, it's replaced by the original sphere. He holds it out to you. "bring it to the room you want to check and give it a kiss. that'll activate it. it'll scan the room, light up if it locates anything, roll back up when it's done. think that'll work for you?"

"That's amazing," you say, holding it reverently in your hands. "It's like something out of a fairy tale... Especially the part where I have to kiss it." After your fairy tale day turned into a nightmare, you’d have thought you’d have had enough of the genre... but what a wonder Sans has made for you!

"well, you don't have your own magic to activate it, so i had to give it some kinda trigger." He winks. "if that's really all i can do for ya..."

"You don't know how helpful this is," you say, throwing your arms around him and kissing the top of his skull. "Thank you, Sans..."

"like i say. happy to back you up any time." 

You release him and step back, regarding him curiously. "So... what do I owe you?"

"hm?"

"You healed me --"

"barely," Sans grumbles.

"And you're giving this to me," you say, holding up the ball. "You said when you got my handbag back, your help has a price." You bat your eyelashes at him, smiling. "How many kisses this time?"

"uh..." 

* _whatever the hell this is about, she's been dealing with it all by herself for at least a week now._

* _she won't confide in me. if i tried pushing her, i could very well destroy her trust in me._

* _but... maybe i can get her to open up a bit._

"well, now. nice thing about being a freelancer, i get to set my own prices," Sans says with a grin. "and the kind of magic i'm giving ya, trust me, a couple of kisses don't cover it."

"Oh... Then?"

"have dinner with me."

You blink. 

Would it make you sound cheap to say you'd do that for free?

"Is that... really all?"

"i'm asking for a couple hours of your time on your day off, aren't i? sounds fair to me." He shrugs. "besides, after i eat i can take another stab at fixing that wrist. maybe see what i can do about the rest of you, too."

"I'd appreciate that," you murmur, looking at your wrist, then at your ankle.

"well, then." He starts wrapping the bandage back around your wrist. "how 'bout you lemme get you something? can't exactly take you out, but nothing's saying i can't bring the grub to you."

"All right," you answer, your heart beating fast. Isn't this almost like a date? If he's getting you takeout food on your day off... Jerren's voice cuts in on this pleasing line of thought. Are you trying to con yourself into believing this man has any real interest in you personally? Or that he actually respects you? He's probably hoping to get laid on your day off... and you're so stupid and easily led, you'll probably go along with it, just to make him happy, just to forget your troubles in pleasure, just to pretend to yourself that maybe this isn't only about sex for him...

Sans ties the bandage up, then gets to his feet. "got a surprise for ya, then. back in ten." He winks and vanishes. Drat -- you forgot to tell him you're vegetarian. Will he be bringing back monster or human food for you? Does it matter, with monster food? You're not really sure, hell, you’re not even all that hungry anyway...

You carefully tuck the sphere of magic into a side pocket of your handbag, then lean back, relaxing on the couch and closing your eyes. Well, even though you'd hoped to avoid Sans, this hasn't turned out too badly. Sure, you pissed him off and you're still clearly frustrating him, but at least the magic he gave you will solve the mystery of the bug in Sasha's room... he wants to have dinner with you, even if it probably is just to seduce you... your wrist feels better, and he says he'll try healing you some more after eating... and as safe as you felt in the apartment without him, somehow you feel even safer with him here. 

Before long, Sans returns with two bags of fast food. "hang on a sec, got one more trip. close your eyes," he says as he deposits them on the table. He vanishes again, and you close your eyes. You hear him return and open the fridge, then shut it. "ok. you can look."

"What did you get?"

"specialty of my home district," he says, waving you over. "here, sit down." 

You limp over to the table, and he retrieves a paper-wrapped lump and a package of french fries from the bag and sets them in front of you. You start unwrapping as he sits down and sets out his own dinner. "glamburgers," he says. "know you're vegetarian, but y'dont have to worry 'bout it with our food. it's all just energy formed different ways. see?" He unwraps his and lifts the bun, showing how the patty is made of some sort of compressed sequin-like substance. "and they ARE edible, they just look goofy. ya want anything to drink?”

“Water, please. How'd you know I was vegetarian?" you ask as he fills up a glass of water and opens a beer.

"lucky guess." He winks as he passes you your glass.

You have had enough of these damn men and their damn lucky guesses, but you manage a wan smile. "Well, you were right. Thank you."

He raises an eyebrow, but just says "bone appetit, kid."

You take a bite of the glamburger. It's warm and tastes savory, but has the texture of shaved ice and crunches between your teeth. He grins at your reaction, but you grin back and take another bite. "It's delicious! Different from what I expected but delicious."

"yeah. this cat down there makes a pretty mean burger, though he's grouchy as fuck the whole time."

"Is that 'cat' in the human slang sense or --"

"nah. literal cat monster." You can't help but smile, picturing a cat monster flipping burgers. "well, gotta say," Sans continues, "this beats the hell out of the dinner plans i had before."

"Oh... I'm not keeping you from anything important, am I?"

"new ebott won't miss me," Sans answers with a shrug. He pauses. "'sides, i've been keeping myself busy lately, think i've earned a break. lemme tell you 'bout what i did the other day."

He's bringing up his work with you? You perk up. "What did you do?"

"blackmail case. gal's getting married to a big shot in the corp world in a couple weeks. well, she recently got contacted by an old fling. wasn't exactly offering his congratulations and a toaster."

"Uh oh... Pictures, letters?"

"letters. sounded like some pretty hot stuff, too. he threatened to go straight to her fiancé and hand'em over, but said he'd trade 'em back for one more night with her. she panicked, thought it'd all be over if she gave him what he wanted, and..." Sans shakes his head.

"He didn't take pictures of her or something... did he?"

"bingo."

You wince. "Oh no..."

"now, the fella she's marrying, she believed he would have broken it off just over the old stuff. even though it happened long before he was even in the picture. humans," he says with a dismissive gesture. 

You raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"from our point of view, it's damn well near criminal to find the love of your life, someone ya wanna take as your mate... and then give it all up because you're not the first one they've ever been with." He shrugs. "if she'd asked me, i'd have told her she'd have been well rid of her fiancé. but she didn't, so i kept my mouth shut."

"I like the monster way of thinking about it better," you murmur. You've been burned once too often by men who were only too happy to sleep with you, but held your sexual experience against you at the same time.

"trying to figure out human culture is a full-time job sometimes." Sans gestures with a french fry to make his point. "anyway. so if he'd have called it off over a bunch of old letters, she was certain he'd hit the roof once he knew about THIS. even for monsters, someone you're serious about sleeping with someone else behind your back, that'd cause some real problems. but it was even worse than that..."

"How so?"

"this time the guy wasn't threatening to take the evidence to her fiancé. if she couldn't cough up the kinda money he was looking for, he'd peddle the pictures to the tabloids."

You cringe. "My God... the poor girl..."

"yeah. so not only would the wedding be off for good, her reputation woulda been shot to hell. and, having just been burned by this sleazeball, she wondered if he maybe had more on her than she knew. keep the gravy train going well into her marriage, right? she isn't exactly hurting for money now, but once she's hitched to this corp guy, she'll be set for life..."

"And her scumbag ex knows it," you growl.

"exactly. she convinced him she'd have to sell some jewelry first, so he gave her forty-eight hours. that's when she got in touch with me. her back was against the wall, and she remembered hearing that i could handle shit like this quickly and quietly."

"And you found the pictures... right?"

He grins. "you wanna know the story has a happy ending, even before ya hear it? softie."

"I just feel so bad for her... I hate the idea of her reputation getting trashed like that..." 

* _this is hitting a nerve. some public shame in her past?_

He pats your hand. "kid, of COURSE i found the pictures." You breathe a sigh of relief, and he continues "tailed the guy, searched his place, but didn't really expect to find them there. from her descriptions of the pictures he clearly had an accomplice who took them. had to figure out who that was first, but once i got a name, everything else followed. searched the second guy's place, found what i was looking for. she'd been right, there'd been more pictures than he'd shown her."

You whistle. "She dodged a bullet!"

Sans nods. "'s just what she said. better to confess all to me and pay once than get stuck shelling out to this asshole for years."

"She must have been so grateful..."

"there was a lot of boo-hooing when i got'em to her, yeah."

* _she'd been terrified of me the first time we met. gal like that, she probably never met a monster in her life, let alone one who looks like a living skeleton. she kept her eyes focused on my necktie, and i knew what she was thinking like it was written in a thought bubble above her head: 'don't look above the neck, don't look at his hands, pretend he's human.'_

* _but when i came back with an envelope full of pictures and negatives, i was her new best friend. we burned them together, and she was so grateful that she hugged me and kissed my skull._

* _and i thought, this lady isn't half bad, but she's nothing like my girl._

* _now here i am with her... and she won't let me do for her a fraction of what i did for my client._

You take a bite of your burger, pondering this. She sounds like she might be a socialite, he runs a big company, their wedding will be in the news soon... Sans must know he's given you enough information that you could try to figure out their identities. Is he trying to signal that he trusts you won't go digging around or gossiping about the situation... so you should be able to confide in him, too? 

Then another thought strikes you. "Can you pick locks or something? Or did you just shortcut into their places?"

"shortcut," he answers, his mouth full of french fries.

Which means he can shortcut to someplace he's never been. That's really _quite_ powerful... not to mention useful for someone in his line of work. "So... when the guy that took the pictures gets back home and finds the door locked, the windows intact, but the pictures gone..."

"negatives too. and his camera destroyed," Sans adds with a shit-eating grin, gesturing at you with a french fry.

" _And_ his camera destroyed... and hears you've been asking around about him... aren't they going to know exactly who to blame?"

"won't take them that long. for one thing, i pinned the camera to the wall with a big old bone through the lens." He closes one eye socket and pantomimes throwing a french fry against the wall. "for another thing, i switched out the pictures with a sketch of me giving'em the finger."

You nearly choke on a french fry. "You _didn't_!"

"i did," Sans says, chuckling. "i'm a pretty shit artist, but they probably got the message."

You start laughing, too, but you manage to get out "My God, I can't imagine how pissed they must be right now!"

"it wasn't the most exciting job i've ever taken, but imagining the looks on their dumb mugs makes the whole day worth it."

"But, uh... Don't you worry they're going to... well, retaliate?"

Sans leans forward. "they are MORE than welcome to try," he answers, his shit-eating grin suddenly looking more sinister.

Not sure what to say to that, you take another french fry and chew, pondering the anecdote. Sans can go anywhere... he'd said he could, but somehow you'd assumed such a useful power had its limits, like he could only go somewhere he'd been before. Nope... he really meant _anywhere_. Anywhere but the surface, that is... which is fortunate for Jerren, because if Sans could teleport to the surface, your tormenter would be skewered by a bone right now, just like that camera had been. Would you rather he get stabbed through the heart— if he has one at all— or have the bone go down his throat, rip through his guts and out his ass, like a pig on a spit? You might have a green soul, but right now both possibilities sound damned appealing. 

What else does the anecdote reveal? Apparently Sans has no qualms about baiting people... rather hoping, it would seem, that they provide him with an excuse to fight. And sometimes he works for lovely young socialites in distress, not hardened gangsters. The thought is irrationally annoying. Did he think she was prettier than you, more charming, more desirable? Did he discuss her case over a cozy dinner, or tack a couple of kisses onto his fee? Would he rather have a human like her... and amuses himself with you in the meantime, because all it took to get _you_ into bed was money?

You munch on a great quantity of french fries as you ponder these questions, primarily the ones that pertain to Sans' client. Then you realize something's missing. "Say, do we have any ketchup?"

Sans freezes. "uh. no."

Something about the response seems disproportionate. "You... don't like ketchup?"

"eh, not really." He shrugs. "y'know, so long as i'm telling freelancing stories... bet ya were pretty curious 'bout the one where i charged the guy ten times the base rate?"

You perk up. "Incredibly curious."

He looks smug as he says "well, s'pose you remember baby kitty?" You drop your french fry, looking at him wide-eyed, and he leans back, his expression even more smug. "evidently you do."

"That was _you_ who saved that poor baby?" you squeak.

"yep."

"Oh my God! Sans, how did you _do_ it?"

"the old-fashioned way. part of their problem was, it was such a high-profile case that they were flooded with leads. they were having a hard time looking into every single goddamn one, sorting through which ones were people fucking with them, which ones were people grasping at straws and which ones were based in something real. i could. and i did." He looks thoughtful. "i truly didn't think hatherley was gonna get in touch with me. never seen a human eat that much crow in one sitting."

"Uh... wow, I can imagine..." George Hatherley was an charismatic young politician married to a former starlet -- which made the kidnapping of their two-year old daughter Katherine, known as Baby Kitty, the crime of the decade. He had been noted for his anti-monster rhetoric. Although, now Sans mentions it, he did rather dial it down after the kidnapping... 

"but, ended well," Sans says with a shrug.

"Now I understand how you got someone to pay _that_ much... It must have been worth any amount of money, having his daughter back."

* _well. finding the kid was only part of what i'd been hired for._

* _hatherley's beloved daughter was being terrorized, he was being extorted and jerked around, and his wife had suffered a complete nervous breakdown..._

* _by the time he was desperate enough to call on me, he was envisioning a death for the kidnappers that was both creative and slow._

* _it was the perfect job._

Sans smiles. "he was satisfied with my work."

There's silence as the two of you eat. You're pleased, and rather flattered, that he's opening up to you about his freelancing work a little more. You try to tamp down Jerren's voice, still ringing in your ears, and shiver.

"of course," Sans continues casually after a few minutes, "like i told you, not all the jobs are that intense. 'specially not when i was just getting started. kinda depressing to think 'bout how many of the gigs i took at first were what i call 'messenger' jobs."

"Messenger jobs?"

"sure, when someone needs to deliver a message that maybe the target doesn't wanna hear. such as 'stay the fuck away from your ex.'" He shrugs. "some humans, they seem to listen better when it's me talking than when it's someone they're a little too used to pushing around."

You swallow the last bite of your burger, and it seems to stick in your throat. "Um... that sounds like a hint."

"call it a suggestion."

He continues eating while you look down at your lap.

"I told you I didn't want to get you involved," you say after a minute.

"i am involved. which means you've got more options than you think."

He has no idea how wrong he is. "Sans, I can deal with it myself," you say, trying to sound more convincing than you did last time you said it. "Besides, it's a bad idea for anyone to be able to link us, right? You wouldn't want to give away our secret..."

"kid, what i've been trying to tell ya is that i am NOT an amateur. tell me what the situation is, and i can figure out some way to help ya without blowing our cover... in a way you'd be comfortable with." He wipes his hands on his pants, then gestures at you. "and yes, that does mean that if it’s important to you for his sorry, abusive ass to stay alive, i can work with that restriction."

"I'm sorry," you answer, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. "I wish I could ask for your help. I can't."

He frowns. 

* _this isn't about me specifically, is it? someone hires her to get close to me for some reason... it works too well and now she doesn't want to go through with whatever she'd agreed to do?_

* _i have a hard time believing that. i can usually see that kind of shit coming a mile away. if she'd pulled it off this long she'd deserve a goddamn medal._

* _could be she truly thinks this guy's untouchable. that it'd be too risky for me to go after him. she did grow up upper-class, sure sounds like he has surface ties, and she knows i can't go up there. or it could be that he's some sort of gangster, the fear of guns and her reluctance to take the deal with me makes me think she has some experience with them. so maybe he really is someone with serious clout, or someone dangerous. someone like her might find it hard to understand that'd be a selling point for me._

* _or she worries that, no matter what i tell her now, once i know who hurt her i'll kill him. and it's someone like her father, or maybe her kid's father... someone she feels a misguided responsibility to protect, even if he's abusive to her._

* _well, fuck._

He looks thoughtfully at you for a moment, then scoots his chair closer to yours. “i think one more round with the wrist will about do it."

You hold your arm out to him, and he undoes the bandage and places your wrist between his hands. Again, he concentrates and the blue glow appears between his bones. It feels so good, and... this is all so sweet of him, even if it's just because he's feeling possessive about his human, even if it is just because he's hoping to fuck you tonight... Tears start to fall down your cheeks, and you sniffle and wipe them away, only to find them replaced by more.

Sans looks up at you, clearly distressed, and the magic between his fingers fades until it can barely be seen. "aw, kid, don't do that. c'mon, i, uh... i can't concentrate if you're doing that."

Mortified to be crying in front of him, you wipe your face, desperately trying to get ahold of yourself. "I'm so sorry... I'll be right back," you say, detaching yourself, grabbing your crutches and beating a tremendously undignified retreat to the bathroom.

What a goddamn day... You splash water on your face, looking at yourself. God, you're pathetic. Damaged goods, Jerren's voice echoes in your ears. Right now you don't feel like you can argue that he's wrong. Damaged goods... leftovers... a piece of ass. That's the only reason you survived, anyway, after the world rejected you and you completely failed at making your own way... dress it up with the terms "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" as you will, the fact is that you slept with Louis so he'd protect you. Nearly six years on, after trying so hard never to wind up in that situation again, you're still using sex to get what you need. And from Sans' point of view, it must seem so straightforward... If you weren't so stubborn, he'd erase the problem, you'd reward him by sleeping with him, life goes back to normal. That's what you're here for, right? That's your fucking job. The mild pun in the thought doesn't even make you smile. What a joke, that Jerren had been trying to save you from a life of prostitution, and you wouldn't take the offer. Well, now he knows what kind of woman you really are. Had he truly intended to reward your devotion to Sasha, and been disillusioned? Who the hell asked him for any goddamn rewards anyway? That piece of shit should have just left you to your sordid little life.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Just this morning you'd had a glimpse of who you might have been, if your mother had never met the leader of Open Skies. Carefree... rich... protected... surrounded by friends. Now look at you... You're alone, you're stressed to the breaking point, you're selling your body, and you're so incredibly tired...

But you're free.

You can't help but smile, just a little. 

Jerren laid a trap for you with every bit of skill he possessed... and you didn't fall in. Yes, you suffered for your refusal, but as before, you're sure things would have been worse if you'd said yes. Eventually you'd have fallen off of your pedestal, and by then it might have been impossible to escape. Yes, you're free, you're safe, your sister is getting better, you feel like the past has eased its grip on your mind, and your future is in your hands...

And the most notorious monster in New Ebott has pledged himself to you as your ally. If Sasha's room is bugged, his magic will find it... your wrist is so much better already... and whatever his motives are, he does want to help you. And although you can't imagine telling him the whole story tonight, knowing he's on your side warms your heart. Earlier today, for the first time, you'd actually been able to envision a day when Sans loved you enough to accept everything about you... a day where you could finally tell the truth about yourself to someone you trusted. Maybe that day will never come -- he doesn't care about a damn thing, Jerren whispers to you. But you can't help but think that if something happens that forces your hand... if Jerren harasses you, if he comes underground to interfere in your life, if he tries to hurt Sasha... you think you could confide in Sans after all. It might lead to him breaking the deal... but you do believe he'd still back you up, as much as he possibly could.

All of a sudden, the woman in the mirror doesn't look quite so hopeless. You smile tentatively at yourself, wiping your eyes. You've made it through so many trials... You will make it through this one, too. 

And you'll share your secrets with Sans on your own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, our heroine is not quite ready to confide everything to Sans. Which I know is frustrating as a reader... but do remember that the story you've been reading for a month has been about seventeen hours of her life. And it has been a long seventeen hours. Hey, at least this universe's equivalent of the [Lindbergh baby kidnapping case](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lindbergh_kidnapping) ended well, thanks to Sans.
> 
> In this timeline, anyway.
> 
> In happier news, I got two sweet pieces of APJFM fanart, both from beaubartley -- the first of [the pivotal moment in 29 where Reader thinks of Sans, and what he might say about this situation](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171722420405/beaubartley-sure-but-then-you-get-out-of), and [a profile picture of Jerren](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171759936910/beaubartley-i-have-often-thought-that-the) that is very much like I envision him, handsome and intense. I love them both, thank you!
> 
> Speaking of Jerren, I posted some [thoughts about him](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171854091875/tyranttortoise-said-im-having-issues-with-ao3) based on things I'd written in the comments, and I also did a short question and answer series with him. I'm not taking any more questions now, and I haven't finished answering, but here's [the first round of questions and answers](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171863931040/ask-jerren-round-1). None of this is necessary to follow the story, but it is fun background information... and, as he won't be appearing directly in the story for a long time, I thought it was only fair to give him his say. 
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me!
> 
> Now that I've posted the most stressful chapter and the one where things start to get better, I am going to get back to a once a week posting schedule. I'll post 32 on the 23rd. 
> 
> My tumblr is at [neroli9.tumblr.com](https://neroli9.tumblr.com). Do check it out if you'd like to see my sketch of Sans giving the blackmailers the finger. (And if anyone else wants to contribute sketches, I would love to see them!)
> 
> Here's a calendar to chapter 31 (uh, yeah, haven't done this yet).


	32. anomaly problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172145004270/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

When you emerge from the bathroom, Sans is sitting at a cleared-off table, his expression distant. He's turned on the radio, and some jazz is playing. He turns to look at you. "all better there, sweetheart?"

"Mostly..."

"gonna finish working on that wrist, then i got something that’ll cheer you up.”

Sans healing your wrist with his magic cheers you up plenty, even if you do suspect him of ulterior motives. "Thank you," you murmur.

"here, sit back down." He gestures to your chair, and you make your way back over to it. He takes your wrist again, and this time, he concentrates on it for about ten minutes. You try to clear your mind of troubling memories and focus on him. God he looks appealing when he’s using his magic, his shirtsleeves pushed to his elbows and his expression so serious. Beats the hell out of a stupid human man, with stupid soft lips and stupid good-smelling hair and stupid muscles.

Sans sits up and shakes out his hands. "there. tell me how that feels."

You flex your wrist back and forth, starting to smile. "Miraculous."

"yeah? no sore spots? nothing feeling all stretched out?"

"No, it’s perfect. Thank you, this is unbelievable!”

"you’re welcome,” he says, standing up and stretching. "now close your eyes and put out your hands."

"Bossing me around even on my day off, huh?" you say with a weak smile as you close your eyes and hold out your hands.

"like this," he says, guiding your hands so that they're cupped together. "an' yes." He pats you on the head. "you gotta admit it works."

He's touching you so casually, and it feels good, it relaxes you... You could almost believe that you're just a regular couple, that you were at a point where he knew almost instinctively when you'd welcome his touch and when you wouldn't, and -- and now you realize how manipulative Jerren had been in that respect too, your stomach lurching. He'd started with a hand to help you out of the carriage, and little by little he escalated until he was hugging you, he was carrying you, he kissed you and you liked it. Sans is right, it does work, Jerren realized it too, you're so easily manipulated, so easily led...

"ready, kid?" You come back to yourself with a start. Sans is looking at you, his thoughts inscrutable behind his permanent grin and wide eyesockets.

"Uh, yeah, sorry," you mumble, closing your eyes again.

Something cool and smooth lands in your hands. "ok. now you can look." You're holding a frosty glass filled with layers of pastel ice cream, whipped cream and star-shaped fruit. The top glitters with iridescent star candies.

"Oh wow! It’s... some sort of parfait?"

"called a starfait. specialty of my district," he says, grinning. He sits down with his own bowl, watching you.

"Wow! It's so pretty!" you say, beaming. "I love the colors! And the little stars! I don't know if I can eat it!" You turn it around in your hands, admiring the way the light glitters off of the candies.

"what, you want i should frame it? go on, try it." He takes a bite of his, and you follow suit. Oh, it’s delicious! It’s rich and creamy, and the candy seems to sparkle in your mouth. Your eyes go wide.

"This is fantastic! Thank you so much, Sans!" You take another bite. If nothing else, you’ve eaten really damn well today.

Sans looks satisfied with your reaction. "the monster kids are all wild for these things," he says. "come from the other four districts just to buy them."

You savor yours while Sans pokes at his. "You're not much on sweets?" you ask, when you notice you've about finished yours while his is still nearly untouched.

* _pap used to love these._

"eh, gotta be in the right mood," he says with a shrug. "i'm full, anyway. you wanna finish mine?"

Will he think you're greedy if you say yes? You take him at his word, and you're soon digging into your second starfait. He opens up another beer for himself and sits with you, drinking it as you enjoy your extra dessert.

It could be true that he has an ulterior motive. After having been so thoroughly taken in this afternoon, you don't feel all that confident in your ability to discern anyone's sincerity. But... as far as you can tell... you can't help but think Jerren doesn't know as much as he thinks he does. Even if all you really are to Sans, generally speaking, is the human that he bought, and even if he is hoping to get you into bed later... right now, you're certain that he's gave you his dessert because he's trying to make you happy after your rotten day. You smile, and although your mouth is filled with ice cream, you can't help but feel warm all through.

Sans stands up and stretches, his bones popping. "well. you ready for me to look at that ankle?"

"Oh, please..."

"here." 

Sans takes your hand, and you find yourself sitting on the couch, your skin tingling. It's disorienting to move around like that within a single room, but it certainly is nice not to have to limp from the table to the couch. You smile. "Thanks for saving me a few steps."

"don't mention it." Sans sits down and pats his lap. You stretch out your leg and rest it on him, and he places his hands on your ankle. You relax and lean against the back of the couch as the now familiar magic seems to seep through your skin, warming you down to the bone.

"you do feel it working, right?" he asks after a minute.

"Oh, yes..."

"good. 's kinda hard for me to tell." He looks down at his hands, frowning. "'cause like i told ya, i'm lousy at this."

"I think you're amazing," you say, looking at him with admiration. 

* _amazing? this shouldn't be so hard for me. true, most monsters can't heal at all, but toriel could fix this in a minute._

* _but am i going to take an injured call girl to the manor, introduce her to the co-leader of district one as the human i bought?_

* _tonight is weird enough._

He shakes his head, chuckling awkwardly. "just 'cause of this crap bit of healing? sweetheart, it's just a sprain. you don't know a fraction of what i can do if ya think THIS is impressive."

" _And_ the magic you gave me to find a bug," you remind him.

"well, yeah," he says with a grin. "that one's not a bad little trick, if i do say so myself."

"So that was more complicated than this... but this is harder for you to do?"

He shrugs. "basically. sorry i'm so shit at it. taking forever just to do this much."

"Don't apologize," you murmur. "I really do think it's wonderful." 

He looks down at your ankle and closes his eyes.

Somehow, as impressive as it is that he can easily toss off a bit of magic that can find even tiny listening devices... it impresses you more that he's putting so much effort into doing something he's not good at, just to try to make you feel better. 

But you don't think you could possibly explain that to him without making it really obvious that you've fallen for him.

What are you supposed to do with those feelings now? You'd felt so optimistic at lunch... It had seemed all but inevitable, that if you spent a lot of time in a man's company, you laughed together and you enjoyed music together and you had amazing sex, that it wasn't all that unreasonable to think that he, too, might fall in love with you. It's as if you'd dressed up your situation with gauzy veils, and one by one, Jerren had ripped them all off. Now, you're forced to look at things as they are, and it's not so pretty as you'd thought earlier. Even if Sans is on your side... even if he does develop real affection for you... could you really have the kind of relationship with him that your heart longs for? When your connection started out as a business arrangement... when he's so devoted to his work... and when, you have to admit, you know so little about him? What you do know about the kind of person he is outside of this apartment doesn't exactly fill you with confidence...

Yet, it's not as if Jerren knows Sans, either. He was only speaking generally, about a theoretical gangster with little respect for human life and a desire for distraction. Whatever Jerren might have said, the real Sans is right here, putting his whole soul to the task of caring for you. Why is he doing it? Out of pity? Out of genuine concern for you? Out of a desire to have his human whole again, so she's ready for sex? Out of a desire to show off his magic?

You sigh. You have no idea what Sans' motivations are. But you have to admit, you know exactly how you feel about him. You need him... you want to be with him... you wish so goddamn badly that you could just put all this in his hands and let him comfort and protect you... and as grueling as this whole day has been, somehow Sans healing you makes everything feel right. This may have started out as a business arrangement, but even if Sans doesn't know it yet, it's now so much more complicated than that. And no, it’s _not_ like Jerren said... He'd made it sound like you'd have given your heart to any gangster in New Ebott who'd bought you, just out of some attempt to preserve your self-image.

_Fuck_ Jerren. He has no idea about who Sans really is... about the kind of man you've fallen in love with.

You've been awake since five in the morning, and it's probably past ten by now... You sigh, trying to let your mind go blank. The magic on your ankle feels so good... The couch feels so good... Your feelings towards this man are so warm, so comforting... You could just drift off, and wake up with a magically healed ankle... You close your eyes...

Jerren is looking at you like prey, preparing to verbally dismantle you, and you're trapped, you're alone --

You open your eyes again with a start. Sans glances up at you. "all right there, sweetheart?"

"Uh, yeah," you mumble.

He gives you a curious look, but goes back to his healing. You take a deep breath and study him instead of trying to fall asleep. Funny that it's taken about three weeks to completely rewire your sexuality... Now his exposed bones and skull seem almost embarrassingly appealing to you. You'd love to draw him sometime, you can just imagine sketching out each rib bone and all the vertebrae...

You have a long time to admire Sans' appearance, as it takes over a half hour for him to finish. Finally, he gives your ankle a pat. "how's that feeling?"

You flex your ankle, turning it around, then swing your legs off of his lap and down to the ground, testing a tiny bit of weight on it. Then you stand up. It's as if you'd never caught that foot on that damn root.

You sit back down on the couch and throw your arms around him, kissing his cheekbone. "Sans, you're amazing! Thank you!"

* _thanks for nothing, more like. what good is it if he goes and does it again?_

* _why does she have to be so fucking stubborn?_

* _i did this because i didn't want something real. i wanted to just be the guy who's buying her._

* _welp. i'm getting what i wanted._

He stiffens. "keep trying to tell ya, kid, 's really not all that impressive." He tries to detach from your hug. "well, i probably oughta let ya enjoy the rest of your day off."

"Oh... Already?" You let go of him and sit back, looking up at him as he stands up. It's probably rather ridiculous and contrary to be disappointed he hasn't tried to make a move on you... isn't it? You're not sure if you'd rather lose yourself in sex or if you'd rather curl up and not be touched by anyone for a week... but what's going to happen to you and Sasha if he doesn't want you anymore?

"held up your side of the bargain, didn't ya?" he says with a wink. 

"Yeah, but..." Somehow, the idea of being alone again -- even here, in this magically-secured apartment -- makes you feel anxious. Sans is so much better company than Jerren's mocking voice in your head. "You don't want to listen to some more music, maybe?"

He looks curiously at you.

* _huh. so she wants me to stay with her?_

* _is she trying to seduce me?_

* _it's hard to tell, i'm getting some mixed signals from her tonight. the body language indicates attraction, but that was anxiety in her voice just now. so i think she's asking me to stay because she feels safer when i'm here. whatever happened earlier, it terrified her._

* _so she'll come to me for comfort, but she won't let me do a damn thing to actually help her. does she have any idea how fucking frustrating that is?_

* _well, it's not like i have any business putting myself back in danger tonight. tomorrow too, most likely. that kind of healing drains me like nothing else._

* _if i’ve got to rest up a bit, might as well do it with a pretty human for company._

He sits back down on the couch, loosening his tie. "can't say i don't like the idea of spending a little more time with my girl," he says, winking at you. 

"I'm... really not keeping you from something?"

He shrugs. "told ya seventy-five percent of this freelancing shit was lining up new jobs. was supposed to meet a couple people tonight, but they’re used to me skipping out on’em."

"Oh..."

"if i'm gonna stick around, d'ya mind if i smoke?"

"No, I mean, uh... it's your apartment, Sans..."

"thanks, sweetheart. back in a few. pour me a shot of whiskey while i'm gone, an' something for yourself if you want it." He vanishes.

Without him, the apartment feels too quiet. You run your fingers over your wrist, then your ankle. Remembering how his attention was so keenly focused on you for such a long time makes a warm glow of pleasure and arousal spread through your belly. He’d focused on your injuries with his whole soul... he'd thought only of helping and healing you, his girl...

It's just so he can fuck you, Jerren's voice whispers to you.

You lean over and press your fingers into your forehead. Shut up, shut up, _shut up_ , you order the Jerren in your head. God, you're so tired, your thoughts are careening from love to sex to the misery of just a few hours earlier. If you close your eyes, your head feels like it's literally spinning, as if the apartment is whirling all around with you as the unwilling axle. You open your eyes with a start and rub your aching head, sighing, before getting to your feet for that drink. You're not sure you trust yourself to pour something spillable into something delicate, but you conclude the job without incident, then pour a glass of water for yourself.

As you're placing the shot of whiskey on the coffee table, Sans returns, holding a wooden box and an ashtray. He sits back down, sets them on the coffee table and opens the box, studying the selection of cigars inside. You sit down next to him and lean in closer, enjoying the smell of the cedar humidor mingled with the tobacco. The different brands of cigars, with their ornate bands, also attract your eye. “Quite a collection... Are they magical cigars?”

“some are. some are the kinds humans make.”

You raise your eyebrows. “How does that work?” 

"uh, well, the effects feel different to me. i'll go with a magical one tonight."

He picks one up, rolling it between his fingers, then closes the box. Next, he pulls a cigar cutter out of his pocket and clips off the end of the cigar. "there. now..." He snaps his fingers, and a blue flame appears at the tip of his thumb. You gasp, and he grins as he holds the edge of the cigar over the top of the flame, slowly turning it around. "thought ya might appreciate that."

"It's beautiful," you breathe, watching the process wide-eyed.

"basically amounts to a party trick," he says with a shrug, but he's smiling.

When the tip of the cigar wrapper has been evenly toasted, he holds it between his teeth, placing the flame in front of it. He rotates the cigar as he draws in air, then breathes out a puff of smoke as the tip of the cigar ignites. "there." He leans back and puffs on his cigar, savoring the smoke before blowing it back out. You take a deep breath, enjoying the rich, warm scent of the tobacco.

"How do you mean the effects feel different? If you don't mind me asking."

"uh, it's hard to describe. the magical ones, they kinda feel relaxing. they replenish me, same as food does. and i can do this with'em." He takes a drag on his cigar, then blows a puff of smoke which turns into a wide-eyed frog. It hops three times before dissolving. 

You laugh and clap your hands, your own troubles completely forgotten. "Do it again! Please!"

Sans chuckles and takes another drag on his cigar, then blows out three small puffs of smoke. As they float away from him, they form themselves into bones that spin in small circles before vanishing. Next, he produces a little man made of smoke that cartwheels through the air, then strikes a pose and vanishes. You could keep watching all night, but he chuckles. "you're gonna wear me out, kid. i'm trying to renew myself a little here." He takes another drag on his cigar. "healing like that takes a lot outta me."

"Oh..." Of course... so much concentration and energy must have had a cost. "I'm sorry," you murmur.

"nah, don't apologize. just... c'mere." He puts his arm around you, and you lean up next to him, resting your head against his ribcage.

* _this is frustrating as hell._

* _i like to think of her as my girl... but in reality, she's freezing me out. she's sleeping with the most powerful monster in new ebott, but she's in trouble and she won't let me do anything more than patch her up and send her off with a bit of magic in her handbag._

* _what if it escalates? that's how this shit goes, all too often. what if he puts her in the hospital next time... or worse?_

* _she's probably made that calculation too. and she still doesn't want me involved._

* _and... if i overruled that?_

* _it’s common for abusers to make their victims believe there’s no way of fighting back, so it could be argued she’s not in her right mind about the situation. it would be trivial to tail her, find out who this guy is... and deal with the situation as i saw fit._

* _granted, it would also be controlling, a complete violation of her privacy, and a direct contradiction of what i told her earlier._

* _it would be so easy to impose my will on anybody i damn well pleased. and right now, it's so incredibly tempting._

* _but i know... when i've already gone this far... that's a dangerous door to open._

* _still, i don't have to rule it out entirely. if things escalate..._

* _i could take his judgment into my own hands, and she'd never even have to know._

Your mind wanders as you rest on him, until it strikes on a disturbing thought that, for once tonight, has nothing to do with you.

"Sans?"

"yeah, kid?"

"Uh, I was just thinking... What happens if those guys had extra pictures hidden somewhere? Like if they had a safe-deposit box at the bank or something?" 

He grins. "already you've shown more foresight than those two jokers. i seriously doubt they ever thought that far ahead. but, just for the sake of discussion, let's imagine they did. well... why d'ya think i left them that picture?"

"Because you thought it was funny?"

"it was hilarious," he says with a grin. "but that's not really why. and it wasn't to taunt them, either. it was to let them know, i'm involved now. a move against my client is a move against me."

"Oh..."

"so yeah. i doubt there's any loose ends there, but could be i'm wrong. there's an outside chance they still decide to go for their payday and she's still ruined. then, the question is..." There's something cruel about his expression as he continues "how long do they have to spend that money?"

"Not very long... right?"

"not very long," he repeats, grinning.

The two of you lapse back into silence as he taps the ash off of his cigar, then sets it on the ashtray. He picks up his shot of whiskey. "well. here's to those next four letters." He raises it to you.

You can't help but smile at this. Toasting to your own name? You're delighted it's on his mind, that he wants to know your name so much. You clink glasses with him, and the two of you down your drinks. The water feels so refreshing... You sigh, swirling the remaining water around in the glass. That girl Sans helped, she has no idea how lucky she is. If Jerren knew a move against you was a move against Sans... and if he knew who Sans was... then maybe he would have left you alone. Maybe he wouldn't have tricked you into spending time with him... he wouldn't have dared to kiss you... and he would have _never_ pushed you out of his carriage, calling you a slut... 

Tears come to your eyes as you're hit by the enormity of all that happened over the past... God, nearly the past eighteen hours, no wonder you're so damn tired. After all these years, you finally got the only thing you wanted... you connected with your lost family, you attained some measure of peace, you feel like you finally understand your sister. The experience cleansed your soul, it made you feel reborn... and then, you were expertly manipulated and maneuvered into position before being abused, terrified and cast aside like so much trash. Memories of the day come rushing back, crashing through your head without any rhyme or reason. 

The look on Jerren's face when you knew he was toying with you, that whatever was coming next was going to be unbearable... 

Sasha crying about hearing the shot and knowing you were dead, admitting she'd been working with Jerren so that such a thing could never happen to you again... 

Adaleia's face after she'd dived out of the way of Zephyros' hooves... 

Jerren's arms around you, his lips on yours, the feeling of surprise and arousal all through you, the memory of which now disgusts you...

Orion nuzzling your hand as you howled with pain in front of your family's memorial... 

Jerren's eyes lighting up as he talked about how he knew no limits, would go to any length for what he wanted... good God, he was _not_ exaggerating... 

Stefanson screaming at you, then at Adaleia... 

Sasha crying that she'd rather be dead than see you get hurt by Stepstool Man... 

The moment you were tempted to return to the Courtyard, when you put your hand in Jerren's, you almost said yes. Now the thought makes you start trembling with fear, and your hands shake so hard that you drop your glass on the carpet. What if you had done it? If you had put your future in his hands, if you had delivered yourself and your sister into his power... and then angered him? It might have been impossible to escape... You truly thought he was going to crash through that fence and kill the both of you, who knows what else he might be capable of, what he might have done to Sasha. And now it's all over, now you know you're safe, the fear and pain is all rushing back to you and overwhelming you... 

Tears are streaming down your face now, and you bury your face against Sans as you start to shake all over. 

"uh... kid?" He pats your shoulder awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, I -- I just --" Even just that much is impossible to get out without your voice breaking, and you start to wail, filling the apartment with your anguish. Tears and snot are both covering your face and Sans' shirt, your head is pounding with pain, and you can't hold back, you try but it's impossible, you thought you were going to die today and you had your deepest fears cast in your face, your sister's faith in humanity was destroyed. You got what you wanted more than anything else in the world, but oh, such a terrible price you paid... 

Sans pats your shoulder again. "um... cripes, kid, you really... uh..." He exhales as you continue to howl, losing all control of yourself. "fuck me," he mutters under his breath. You cling to him, your fingers curled around his bones as you sob hysterically.

After a few more minutes of this, Sans sits up, gingerly withdrawing his arm from around you as you bawl. "uh, i..." He holds his hand to his head. "look, sweetheart, i, uh... i'm just gonna give you a minute."

All of a sudden, you fall over onto the couch. Caught short, you look around.

Sans teleported away, leaving you in the apartment alone.

Feeling completely abandoned, you scream with anguish. How can you bear this? You curl up and sob, unable to defend yourself against the flood of memories and the idea that if you had just done this or that differently, you would have avoided so much pain. Now here you are, you're gutted, you're alone, your head is threatening to split in half, and the world outside this apartment is terrifying, so terrifying... You abandon yourself to grief, fear and rage, wailing through your frustration and pain until your throat is raw.

Eventually you have no tears left to cry. You take a deep breath, sniffling and wiping your face with your sleeve. Good God you're a mess... How Sans is going to be at all attracted to you after today, you don't know. You're hurt and angry that he left... but really, what did you expect? That man is not your boyfriend. Perhaps he thought he'd better remind you that he owes you no emotional support whatsoever. You'd never leave someone who was in such bad shape, but he'd been so uncomfortable with your tears, with your naked display of emotion... What a mistake, to think someone who bought you would have any interest in dealing with your real emotions. Is he intending to come back? Ever?

What a night. You run your fingers over your wrist. You can't fault Sans too much, not when he devoted his whole soul to healing you... and when he's clearly willing to go out and kill a man on your behalf. If Jerren was just a regular person, living underground, could you sentence him to death for his manipulation and cruelty? You're not actually sure... You sure wouldn't mind seeing him roughed up a bit, that handsome face swollen and disfigured with bruises, or so terrified he shit his pants. But part of you is grateful you don't actually have to decide whether he lives or dies.

You pick the glass off the floor, then stand up and go to the table, where your sketchbook is in your handbag. Yes, this will make you feel better... You open it up to your rubbing from the grave marker, and locate the three leaves you slipped between the pages. They're all in perfect condition, despite your handbag's encounter with the pond earlier. You hold the leaves to your heart, breathing deeply. This helps... yes, this helps you remember that sublime moment when you felt as if your family's love for you was eternal, untouched even by their deaths. You feel so alone right now you can scarcely breathe, with Sasha somewhere above your head, Ionathia and Adaleia sequestered in the Courtyard and Sans fucking off to God knows where... but if you're cursed to bear your memories and fear alone, you at least have these leaves to remind you of that love.

Worried that Sans might return, you tuck them back in your sketchbook, then tuck your sketchbook back in your handbag. You just can't bear to shove something so precious under the bathroom sink, but if it's hidden in plain sight, Sans wouldn't think to check it for contraband... you hope. You sprawl back onto the couch and exhale. It's a little past eleven now... that's past your bedtime even on a normal day, and you're beyond exhausted. Yet whenever you close your eyes you see Jerren hurtling toward the fence, his expression wild, or Jerren sneering at you, calling you disgusting and easily led, or Jerren pushing you out of the carriage or wrenching your wrist or kissing you, how could you have let that hideous man kiss you... You relive your conversations with him over and over, and you stare at the ceiling, certain you’ll never sleep again without his voice ringing in your ears. Today was devastating; how ironic that after your experience of feeling connected with your lost family and Sasha this morning, you're now completely alone.

The couch cushion by your feet sinks down, and you sit up to find Sans there. "Oh!"

"heya. done with your boo-hooing?" he says, sounding uneasy.

You rub your forehead. "Uh, yeah, I guess,” you say, probably sounding equally uneasy. Which was more awkward? Hiding in a closet with Jerren while Rosamond Sallariti's lover compared her to baked goods? Or Sans' sheepish return, after he abandoned his mistress to her messy, uncomfortable feelings? You suppose you should be grateful he's come back at all.

"good." He leans forward, sitting with his arms resting on his legs, and you get the sense there’s something he wants to say. But he only turns to you, saying "couldn’t help but notice you’re still pretty scratched up. y’want me to, uh, see what i can do?"

"It isn’t going to take too much out of you?"

He shrugs. "nothing i can’t handle.”

"If you don’t mind..."

"lemme just get a little sea tea going, then." He stands up and goes to the kitchen, where he gets a box down from the pantry. He takes a packet out of it and shakes the contents, which look like some sort of sand or crystals, directly into the teakettle, then starts to heat them up.

"Is it like... tea tea?" you ask.

He gives you a funny look. "as opposed to...?"

"I mean, you’re not putting any water in..."

"oh. i forget your leaf tea needs that stuff. here, come see,” he says, taking off the lid of the teakettle.

You walk over -- fervently thankful that you are not limping over— and peer into the teakettle. He stands next to you and puts his arm around your waist as he looks into it as well. Do you like this? It feels casually intimate... although he’s not your boyfriend... The support is welcome... you want him to want to touch you, you want to feel like you didn't scare him off with your outburst... yet still, some part of you feels trapped... but he’s done so much for you...

You’re distracted when you notice that the crystals inside the teakettle are multiplying and swelling. Your eyes widen as each crystal enlarges to the size of a cherry, than bursts one by one, creating a pool of simmering, salty-smelling liquid.

"neat trick, huh?"

"It’s astonishing!"

"it’ll be ready once it boils." He lets go of you to replace the lid on the teakettle, then turns around and gets a mug from the cupboard. "i’d offer you some, but ‘s kinda gross honestly."

"I’d still like to try some...”

"it’s your funeral." He gets a second mug down, then leans against the counter. Again, you get the sense he wants to say something, but again he remains silent. Deciding against another attempt to get you to confide in him, perhaps? Feeling dreadfully awkward, you turn back toward the teakettle, absently running your fingers over the smooth, shiny surface.

You yelp and pull your hand back. Ow! What the hell were you thinking? You’re really outdoing yourself with the stupidity today. Whimpering, you cross over to the sink and run cold water over your fingers.

Sans shakes his head with exaggerated concern. "c'mon, kid. you're plenty hot as it is. don't gotta knock yourself out trying to get hotter." He takes your hand out from under the water and holds it between his, closing his eyes and covering your fingers with his soothing magic.

"You don't have to do that! I barely even singed myself," you mumble. "Probably oughta keep it this way, remind me not to be so stupid."

"you had a bad day," he says gently. "you're tired. and this is nothing, anyway." The pain fades, and the blue light vanishes, but he doesn't let go of your hand. He just stands there, looking down at his hand over yours.

You both jump when the teakettle whistles, and he drops your hand. "maybe i better do this part, yeah? go sit down."

You sit at the table while Sans pours out the tea and brings over the two mugs. You take yours, warming your hands on the outside and staring down at the liquid. It looks rather nice, with a slight green glow, but it smells disgusting -- like rotting leaves steeped in warm, particularly fishy sea water. Sans looks down at his too, then shrugs. "bottoms up." He throws his head back and drinks the contents of his whole mug in one go.

You sip yours, then make a face; it tastes exactly like it smells. You put it back down on the table and push it away. "Can't say you didn't warn me."

He takes your mug and downs that one, too. "damn good for replenishing magic, though. tastes bad but it's kinda easy on the system somehow."

"This isn’t fair to you," you observe. "You gave me the starfait you didn't want, and I gave you the sea tea I didn't want. You got the short end of the stick!"

He chuckles. "life's not fair. any time it's unfair in your favor, you gotta make the most of it. it always goes 'round the other way soon enough."

"You got that right," you murmur. You look down at the two empty mugs, then at him. He's studying you, and you drop your eyes back down to the mugs. "You never did tell me what it feels like to smoke a human cigar," you point out.

"uh, it's like..."

* _it feels like i'm burning myself from the inside out. it's harsh, it leaves my bones smoky and stained. i can't control the smoke, it floats out of my rib cage and eye sockets and ear holes. i get a taste of something astringent and complex that lingers on my tongue and makes my skull pound. i always feel like shit afterward... but more alive, somehow, even if i'm not sure i want to be._

* _so it's the closest i get to a masochistic experience._

He shrugs. "it feels harsh, and it's weird on my body. i don't do it all that often."

"I see..."

He scoots his chair closer to yours, so that he's sitting next to you, not across from you. "lemme see that arm."

You lay your arm on the table, and he places his hands on it, running his fingers lightly up and down from the shoulder to the wrist before returning to the spot that hurts the most, from when you were shoved out of the carriage. "woulda been a nasty bruise right here. but it'll be easier to deal with than the sprains," he says as the blue glow starts back up. You sigh and relax as he concentrates on you.

"i don’t wanna see you wind up in the hospital next time," he says in a low voice as he starts on the scratches on your upper arm from hitting the gravel. 

You shiver. "I’m hoping there won’t be a next time."

"hope isn’t a plan.”

"I know.” You shake your head. “Look, what happened today... it was an anomaly, all right? I haven’t seen the guy in years, and I really don’t think I’ll ever see him again.” Because you’re damaged goods to Jerren, now. You fell off the pedestal and crashed to the ground, and if he really does have future sight he can avoid offending his eyes with your impurity...

* _an anomaly, huh._

* _funny we both have anomaly problems._

"and if you're wrong?"

"If I'm wrong..." You swallow. If Jerren's past behavior is any clue, he really will leave you alone, as long as you're not stupid enough to put yourself back on his radar... but you have to admit you could be wrong. He could change his mind, he could start harassing you or Sasha, and you know that would put you in deeper, more treacherous waters than you can navigate yourself. You don’t want to tell Sans your secrets until you think he loves you too... but you can imagine circumstances under which your safety, or Sasha’s safety, would take priority.

You’ve known this guy for all of three weeks... and half the time you’ve spent with him, you've had your legs spread... but still, you find yourself nodding. "If he comes back... if he won’t leave me alone... I’ll come to you."

He gives your arm a pat. "thank you." Next, he runs his fingers lightly over your arm. "looking good. what 'bout your other arm?"

You turn your chair around and point out where you skinned your elbow when you tripped over that root. He lays his fingers lightly on it as you examine your other arm. Looks perfect... as if you'd never ventured into the Courtyard.

A slightly skinned elbow doesn't seem to pose much of a challenge to him. "what else?" he says after a few minutes, linking his fingers together and stretching.

"You really don't have to do all this," you say, feeling embarrassed, somehow. He's being so patient with you... now you're not crying your eyes out, anyway.

"c'mon kid, this part is easy compared to those sprains. how 'bout whatever's under that bandage on your leg?"

"Uh... all right..."

"ya mind moving back to the couch?"

You relocate to the couch and stretch your legs out, then your arms, too, as you yawn. God, it's late, your head is killing you, but even now, you can't close your eyes without seeing Jerren... 

Sans peels off the bandage and inspects the cut.

* _it's superficial... bled a bit but didn't even really need the bandage. there's some other light, thin scratches on her legs, too._

* _the wrist sprain was clearly from someone grabbing and twisting it. and i initially thought the ankle and the bruises and scratches on her arms both happened at the same time, but now i’m thinking there were two separate incidents. she was most likely pushed onto the ground, landed hard on a sidewalk or gravel on her side, banged and scratched up her arm. then she twisted her ankle somehow and fell forward, skinning her elbows as she landed in the dirt._

* _what order did it happen in? she got pushed, sprained her ankle trying to get away, he wrenched her wrist pulling her back up? he wrenched her wrist, she tried to run and hurt her ankle, then he pushed her to the ground? she was running and hurt her ankle, then he wrenched her wrist and pushed her back down?_

* _running through all the possibilities makes my soul feel sick. whoever that man is, he would not like what i want to do to him._

* _then there's these scratches. mostly on her legs, a few on her arms. i don't think they look like something he did to her, but then how'd they happen? a cat scratching her legs? actually, i'm thinking a thorn bush._

* _so she ran through a thorn bush to try to get away from this guy? fuck, that's disturbing._

* _but nothing on her dress. she's dusty and scratched up, but her clothes are clean and intact. maybe she could change by herself, but it was too hard to shower on her own, with that twisted ankle?_

* _where was she when this happened? a thorn bush tall enough to reach her arms might be the kind of thing you'd see downtown, or in the gardens of one of the big estates..._

He stares at the cut on your leg for a minute. "Uh, it's barely even worth healing," you offer, feeling awkward. Maybe he just thinks you're being whiny about these little scratches?

"eh, i'm gonna have to take it easy tomorrow anyway. so i might as well." He lays his hand on the scratch, and the healing magic flows through your skin.

"I'm sorry..."

"told ya, don't apologize. i, uh..." His brow ridges furrow. "i'm sorry that this is all i can do for ya."

"Feels like I owe you more than just dinner, for the magic you gave me and all this healing..."

"don't sell yourself short. you don't know how relaxing it is to have dinner with someone who doesn't secretly want to dust me." 

This takes you aback, and you laugh nervously. "You lead a complicated life, don't you?"

He chuckles as he moves his hands to one of the other thin scratches. "afraid so."

"That makes two of us," you mutter. He raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.

You lean back and relax as Sans' magic renews your body. He's thorough, his hands moving more quickly now from one shallow scratch to the next. Your head is pounding -- oh, you didn't even think about that...

"Can you do anything for headaches?"

He pauses. "uh, that's actually pretty tricky. humans have a lot going on up there, you know? but i can give it a shot. just lemme..." He concentrates on a couple more scratches, then sits up. "here, c'mere." He pats his lap, and you turn around, laying your head in it.

Having your neck and the top of your head each balanced on a leg bone feels less than comfortable, as his pants are made of thinner material than the robe you bought him, but oh, it's nice to have his fingers trail over your forehead and to your temples. You look up at him, watching as he closes his eyes and activates his magic. Right now you don't know if he's hoping to bed you or if he does just want to help, and you don't really care. It feels so good to be taken care of, to know deep in your soul that you're safe. With the magic this close to your ears, you almost think you hear a faint hum that pulses with the rhythm of magic in his body. If you're understanding it right -- and you will admit you find it all a little confusing -- his body is his magic is his soul, and your heart thrills to picture him that way, to rest on his lap and feel his hands on your head and to be surrounded by his magic, and for all of it to be external manifestations of that beautiful blue soul he'd let you have such a tiny glimpse of. 

* _used to do this a lot for frisk._

* _poor kid had a lot of headaches, at first._

The two of you stay in place for a half hour; you almost think you could drift off to sleep, but every time you close your eyes, there's Jerren calling you damaged goods or Stefanson screaming in your face or Sasha wishing the whitepox had killed her... So each time you open your eyes back up and concentrate on Sans again. He's so still that you wonder if he's fallen asleep, but the magic doesn't let up once.

Finally, he gives your forehead a pat. "i think that's the best i can do. sorry, kid."

Your head still hurts, but it's a dull throb, not the splitting pain you'd been experiencing all night. You sigh in relief. "That really helped though, Sans..."

"good," he says, resting his hand on your forehead.

* _it better. that's going to cost me another day of recovery._

* _why am i doing all this? i didn't want any entanglements, when i made this deal. that was the whole point. but here i am getting involved in some call girl's issues._

* _it doesn't truly matter if he hurts her, if i heal her, if she trusts me, if i kill him... or even if he kills her. the reset is coming soon, and all our petty troubles are nothing in the face of it._

* _so the only reason to heal her is because i want to, right now. is that a bad sign? am i getting in too deep, letting my worthless infatuation with this woman draw me into her personal life?_

* _this is all a lot more than i expected. but i don't have to think about if i need to break the deal tonight._

* _i've got enough to think about right now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest day continues... and we are getting into some damn tricky emotional territory.
> 
> The last chapter inspired some amazing fanart! Allow me to present:
> 
> [beaubartley’s ethereal vision of Sans presenting Reader with the magical moth.](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171942277155/beaubartley-i-am-involved-which-means-youve) I love how delicate this image is, poetic even! I could imagine it on the cover of a physical copy of APJFM.
> 
> [vertabae140 presents the same moment, from a different perspective.](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171984252660/vertabae140-a-puzzle-just-for-me-by) From this angle, we see how darn pleased with himself Sans looks... and the moth glows! (I keep looking at it like ooh, shiny...) The moth becomes more symbolic, later on, so I am delighted to have these wonderful depictions of this moment where it's offered to Reader.
> 
> [yanderebunny303 gives us Sans knocking himself out to heal Reader.](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171984631720/yanderebunny303-for-neroli9-bring-back-the) His expression here is just so endearing! And he looks so embarrassed to admit he straight-up sucks at something... It's very much how I picture him in this scene.
> 
> [shewolf also depicted Sans concentrating on healing Reader.](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/171992160650/the-shewolf-den-a-quick-little-fan-art-for) This is such a special moment, and it's so like I imagined it, with Sans giving Reader his full concentration. The detail in this one is fantastic, too, with the swirling magic and the dress she's wearing.
> 
> I feel incredibly lucky and happy that chapter 31 inspired so many lovely pieces of art! Thank you, everyone :)
> 
> The next chapter -- the last one that covers this long, long day -- will be posted in about a week, probably on or around the 30th.
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me!  
> Come join me at <https://neroli9.tumblr.com> for fan art (hopefully? hopefully!), updates, etc.!
> 
> I will eventually put a calendar to the end of this chapter in this space!


	33. a blue and yellow flickering fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172361106755/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

Sans places his hands on each side of your head and rubs your temples in small circles with his fingers. You smile, nearly purring with satisfaction. Getting a massage from bony hands is a rather bizarre sensual experience, but what the hell good does stupid soft skin and stupid pads of fat and stupid muscles do anyone? You'd rather have Sans taking care of you than anyone else in the world.

You know why he's doing it, Jerren's voice whispers in your head.

Fuck off, Jerren, you reply, but some of the magic of the moment is still lost.

He pats your head, then stretches. "y'mind getting me a drink, sweetheart?"

"Happily," you say, getting up and stretching, too. You lean over, inspecting your legs. They no longer show any marks from your adventure in the Courtyard. That's it, then... except for your hip. "You’re amazing,” you murmur.

He grins. “if you say so.”

"You really are, though! Just look at me, you'd never know I was hurt..."

"glad to be of service. now, your turn." He winks.

“What do you want?"

"i probably oughta have some more sea tea, but i can't face another mug of that shit. pour me another shot of whiskey."

You go to the pantry and get out the bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. You glance at him as you set them on the counter. He's leaning back with his arm thrown over his head, apparently utterly exhausted. All for you, you think with a pang of mingled guilt and pleasure.

He might to want to fuck you soon. It's technically your day off, but... you owe him and you know it. You kind of want it, nothing helps you forget your troubles like sex, and being held and caressed by the man who healed you doesn't sound too bad. But then again, you kind of don't, your head still hurts, you had such a terrifying, emotional day and Jerren's touch still lingers on your body. Maybe sex would help erase that feeling, maybe it would make you feel worse, you don't know which...

Sans might not make an advance on you, you decide as you pour the drink. Healing you did seem to wear him out, after all, whatever that means to a being made of magic. And if he does, it wouldn't be so bad to just lay underneath him and let him use you. You usually like the feeling of being used, and it's been a couple of days since he fucked you so he probably wouldn't last too long. He’d be happy afterwards, and you think you love him, so you want him to be happy, and you need his money, so you want him to be happy...

He doesn't hear the word 'no' very often, and he likes it as little as I do, Jerren's mocking voice interjects into your thoughts. When it comes right down to it, can you say no to Sans? Your stomach lurches as you consider this. He wouldn't want to have sex if you were reluctant -- you think. He let you go, the other day when you'd been crying. But everyone has weaknesses and blind spots, and for him, sex is clearly one of them... plus, he does basically own you... You swallow hard as you pick up the shot glass and bring it back over.

Sans downs the shot and sets the glass back down on the coffee table. "thanks, sweetheart. beats the hell outta sea tea."

"Dirty dishwater beats the hell out of sea tea," you answer with a weak grin, sitting back down next to him.

"so... need anything else patched up? you’re looking pretty good to me.”

You swallow. If you lay down on the couch, lift your skirt and tug down the side of your underpants so Sans can see the injury on your hip, the night is probably going to end with you getting fucked.

"Uh... actually... there’s one more place..."

As you lay down on the couch, lift your skirt and tug down the side of your underpants just enough to expose the injury on your hip, you wonder what the hell you're doing. Testing him? Using sex to forget your own pain? Trying to keep him happy? Preemptively saying yes, because you fear you can’t say no? You don't know what's the right thing to do anymore, and your head still hurts, and maybe if you can forget yourself in sex long enough to orgasm it'll help you sleep, because you don't know how else you're ever going to get to sleep with Jerren's voice ringing in your head every time you close your eyes, with the memory of him looking at you as if you’re an abomination...

Sans pulls the bandage off of the injury, then winces and breathes in sharply as he inspects it. You wince and squirm underneath his fingers, gritting your teeth.

* _she had a nasty bruise on her arm earlier... wondering if this happened at the same time. she would have landed heavily on her side... did she fall, or did he push her? looks like she landed right on a rock or something, cut her hip open. she's lucky she didn’t break anything._

* _calm down, sans. you can’t heal her properly when you’re fantasizing about finding that rock and using it to smash that man's brains into a pulp._

A flash of the anger you'd seen earlier crosses Sans' face as he studies your injury, and you flinch. But it's not directed at you, you're sure of it... He must be thinking of the man who hurt you, wishing he could show him what it meant to lay hands on Dead Eyes' girl. Who would win in a fight, Sans or Jerren? Oh, God, that's a pleasing idea. Sans could shoot him right through the heart, or between the eyes, or several times in the gut... or all of the above, that's why guns have lots of bullets right? Or Sans could use his magic, or trap him in a cage of bones, or teleport him to the top of a skyscraper and just give him a little push...

It would all depend, of course, on just how good Jerren's hypothetical future sight actually is. Good enough to avoid a bullet? He certainly dispatched those monsters with an almost supernatural adeptness, back at his seventeenth birthday party, and he seemed to know just when you were planning on jumping out of the carriage, or calling for help. The man is not to be underestimated... as you found out today. The pleasing fantasy crumbles, as you imagine Jerren dodging every shot and turning Sans into dust... You shudder.

"damn. shoulda shown me that one straight off. here." He shifts so he's sitting next to you, moving your legs so they rest on his lap, and places his hand on your hip. Initially you wince, but as the warmth spreads through your hip, you start to relax.

His other hand rests on your thigh as he heals you. It does feel good... Your hips shift under his hand, and you feel the familiar slick, tight sensation of arousal, rather to your surprise. It’s nice to feel desired... you want him to want you, you want to be close to him... he's been so kind to you... if he wanted to have sex, you'd probably enjoy it once you got into it... even if part of you still wants to curl up and not be touched for a week... You go back and forth in your mind the entire time he's healing you. 

Sans stares down at your hips... at your underwear, and the little bit of pubic hair that was exposed when you pulled your underwear down far enough to show him the injury on your hip. You close your eyes, feeling exposed and expectant. His brow ridges furrow.

* _how am i supposed to concentrate on healing? i can barely do it, i'm so furious. she's my girl, my gentle, helpless little human, and someone saw fit to treat her like trash today. and i can't figure out if she's trying to shield him from me, or if she's convinced that she's protecting me from him._

* _everything in me is calling for action. if i knew his name, if i knew anything about him besides what his disgusting cologne smells like, i wouldn't sleep until i'd found him. i'd make him answer for every single scratch on her beautiful skin, for every step she took on that twisted ankle, for the terror and misery she felt today._

* _i would burn his soul._

* _but she won't tell me, stubborn, proud woman that she is. and yet she puts herself in my care with such trust... she submits her body to me even as she defies me. it draws me to her as much as it frustrates me. every single instinct in me is telling me that she's mine... and that i should make her mine. immediately, roughly and repeatedly._

* _she wants it too... i think. i'm still getting mixed signals, but even if she doesn't know what she wants i do. she's flushed, her breathing is heavier, i smell her arousal. her body is begging me to take her, to make her forget what happened to her today. she'll be happy too, she'll welcome me, she'll beg for more._

* _she's mine, she WILL be mine --_

Just when you start to wonder if you'd misjudged the situation-- if you hadn't given Sans enough credit for respecting your day off -- he moves your legs to the side, then climbs on top of you. he's uncharacteristically quiet as he nuzzles the side of your head, then your neck.

There it is, you think as his tongue slides over your skin and his hand rests heavily on your waist. You stroke his spine through his shirt, taking a deep breath. He's making a move on you, it's what you half expected all night, it's what you all but invited by laying down and exposing yourself so he could put his hands on you. Part of you would still rather curl up and not be touched all week, but his hands on you do feel so good... he's so much better than that asshole Jerren, who manipulated you into crying all over him and letting him kiss you... You kiss Sans' cheekbone, feeling resigned. This won't be so bad, you think as you look up at him. He lifts his head and looks down at you, and you smile as best as you can. It'll make you feel better... it won't last too long... and it's not as if you can say no to him anyway.

He stares down at you, and the dots of light in his eyes shrink to pinpricks.

Suddenly, you're smiling at the ceiling. You blink, totally disoriented. "Uh... Sans?"

You sit up and look around. He's gone. 

Again?

What'd you do this time? 

The faucet in the bathroom turns on, and you hear the sound of splashing water. "Sans?" you call again.

"yeah. gimme a minute," he calls from the bathroom.

What just happened? Exhausted and baffled, you look blankly at the bathroom door. Did he figure it out, how unenthusiastic you were feeling? Apparently your smile wasn’t as convincing as you’d thought. You’re relieved -- you think. But what if you made him mad? If both Sans and Jerren went off on you in the same day, you’re not so sure you could cope...

After a while Sans steps out of the bathroom, his skull damp. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "sorry. i, uh..."

* _fuck._

* _i’m exhausted, i'm pissed off, and i'm horny. it's all fucking with my judgment._

* _this whole situation makes my soul feel sick. if she was my mate i wouldn’t be able to rest until i’d taken care of this piece of trash who hurt her. then i'd fuck her until she smelled like my magic, not his stinking cologne._

* _but she’s not my mate. she's not actually mine. she’s a call girl who doesn’t want me involved in her personal life._

* _and for all i thought she wanted it, her face said as clearly as if she’d yelled it into my ear holes, she didn’t want to sleep with me and she didn’t think she could say no._

* _what a fucking night._

He shakes his head, rubbing his forehead. "i shouldn’t have done that. it’s your day off.”

"I, uh..." You lean back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "I’m sorry. I, uh, I didn’t _not_ want it, exactly, I owe you for all this, and, um, I really wasn’t trying to test you or anything like that, I, uh, I don’t know, God...” You take a deep breath, feeling all jangled up and sick inside. “I just, uh... honestly I wouldn’t have minded, I think, I probably would have liked it, because sex helps me forget and Sans, I’ve got so much to forget..." Shit, you don't want to start crying again, you don't want to drive him away, but as you talk tears are coming to your eyes and you can't stop them. Your voice breaking, you manage to get out, "I’m so tired, I'm so tired but I don't know if I'm ever going to sleep again! Every time I close my eyes I just hear _him_...”

Sans leans against the wall, studying you. You wipe your eyes and look back at him.

All that exists in this moment is you and this man. Your defenses are down and you feel more naked than you ever have in bed with him. It's almost as if he's drawn out your soul for a second time, and you're simply too exhausted and helpless to do anything but bare it to his gaze.

For the first time, you get the sense that he's actually seeing you. Not the call girl who showed up at his hotel room... not the desperate woman who sold herself to a gangster... not the pleasant human with a fake name who makes him feel relaxed and happy...

Just you.

His expression softens. "you went through hell today, didn't you?"

You lean over, resting your arms on your knees, and exhale. "You have no idea."

“and, um, i probably didn’t help just now.” He sits down next to you, leaning over and resting his arms on his knees in a mirror image of your pose. "i just want to say... i know this is a complicated setup we got going on. thing is, uh...”

* _money muddles consent. and the power dynamics that turn both of us on can turn on a dime and damage our connection beyond repair, if i’m not careful._

* _the hell of it is, i get off on that. i didn't mean to cross the line... i'd convinced myself she wanted it too. but i’ll remember that expression on her face for a long time, the instant when i realized she felt like she couldn’t say no to me and she was prepared to let me have my way with her. in my fantasies i’ll savor that mute acknowledgment of my total control over her. i’ll force myself on my defenseless, defeated little whore again and again, i’ll satiate my lust and anger using the body that became mine the moment she agreed to that deal._

* _but fantasy's one thing. if i did that for real... i'd feel like i'd stained my soul. and the way she'd look at me would change forever._

He pauses, looking troubled. "i wasn't thinking from your point of view. wasn't really thinking at all. and, uh... i know it's probably not easy for you to tell me to knock it off. but i ain't gonna crumble if you do.”

* _because it’s true there’s something dark in my soul. i know that._

* _but whoever this man is that hurt her... i’m nothing like him._

You glance at Sans. He's leaning back now, staring up at the ceiling. "Thank you for telling me that," you say softly. But inside you're exulting -- you're imagining yourself dancing around Jerren with your middle fingers raised high. He thinks he's so fucking omnipotent, but he doesn't know a damn thing about Sans. Well, he can find some other poor girl to put on a pedestal. You're happy right where you are.

You lean over and rest up against Sans, putting your head on his ribcage. He exhales. "so, uh... we're good, kid?"

"We're good," you murmur, smiling.

He puts his arm around you, and you close your eyes, cuddling up to him.

God, it's late... It must be past midnight by now. You could fall asleep just like this, right on Sans, and your eyes blink, then close --

\-- and you're back in the carriage, Zephyros galloping towards the fence, _you are going to die_ \--

You open your eyes back up with a start.

No, no... you're safe now, you're underground, you're with Sans, you're exhausted, your eyes close again --

\-- Stephanson is screaming at you, you're trapped in the tiny checkpoint station with the man who gave the order for your mother's execution --

Your eyes open, again, and you curl up, your knees against your chest. It's over now... at least for you, poor Adaleia probably had a rough night of it.

Again your eyes close --

\-- "I should have died, I'd rather be dead than see that man hurt you..." --

Sasha's wails ring in your ears as your eyes open again. You groan, holding your face in your hands. Memories keep flooding back, each one like a knife through your skull...

"you really can't sleep, can you?" Sans says softly.

You shake your head.

Sans is quiet for a minute while you massage your forehead with your fingers. Then he says "talk to me, kid." 

You look up and turn toward him. He's looking at you rather curiously. "how should i explain this... guess you noticed i got a lot of weird talents, right?" This gets a smile out of you, and you murmur agreement. "and, uh, one of them, i don’t use much, hardly ever really. but it'd help you get to sleep. y’don’t have to, i know it might be a hard sell an’ i won’t be offended if you don’t wanna try."

"What is it?"

"uh... you familiar with hypnosis?"

"Uh... you can hypnotize people?"

"under specific circumstances. it's been a while, but..." He shrugs. "should still work."

"Okay. What do I have to do?"

He opens his eye sockets wider with alarm. "wait, wait. we gotta talk first. this isn’t a party trick. this is, uh..." He rubs his forehead, looking awkward. "this would temporarily put you entirely under my control. in a hypnotic trance, i could have you respond to questions, make you perform actions, implant triggers in your mind or explore your memories. you would not be able to defend yourself against it, and you would not remember any of it afterward. any of that shit would be completely unethical and i wouldn’t do that to you. but you need to be fully aware that i could."

"So, uh... this is some serious magic," you say in a faint voice.

"this is some of the most serious magic i’ve got."

When he puts it that way, it sounds terrifying. What kind of magic can allow anyone such access to another person’s mind? He could learn your true identity, get the full story about your past and what happened today, order you to perform any number of sex acts— wow, that sounds appealing as a fantasy, but it’s unsettling to think it’s actually within his power— and he could even find out your true feelings about him. That’s so powerful that the more you think about it, the more it seems like the word "terrifying" doesn’t even begin to cover it. You glance at Sans, feeling as if you’re seeing him as clearly as he just saw you. This man... this short skeleton who likes to make you laugh and share a drink with you before playing at being your master... also moves with impunity in the human world, among ruthless people who'd like to see him dead. He must be adept at magical and physical fighting, he can teleport, heal injuries, create barriers, locate bugs and do who even knows what else with his magic, he's smart as hell -- you'd realized that, but learning that he solved the crime of the century really drives it home -- and there are depths to him and his abilities that you haven't even begun to fathom. How did he get to be like this? Is there anything he can't do? If so... what does that make him? Is there anyone underground who’s more powerful than this man who's bought you? The answer may actually be no. You shiver.

You don’t doubt for a second that Sans can do everything he claims he can... but, somehow, you also believe him implicitly when he says he wouldn’t misuse that power. This man owns you, literally, but he’s also always been kind and respectful to you... when, of course, he's not slapping or degrading you, but given how hard you get off on being slapped and degraded, you don't hold that against him. If he had wanted to figure out your name or what you get up to outside the apartment, it would have been trivial for him to do so already. A lot of men in his position would have felt like they were entitled to know, you can hardly imagine Jerren having such restraint, but given that Sans has not yet had a conversation with you about your being from the surface -- and given how excited he is about learning your name -- you genuinely believe he hasn't been following you. And he's just literally told you it's okay to say no to him, and as far as you can tell he meant it. Yes... you believe him, when he says he won’t muck around in your mind. 

Are you sure you can trust your own judgement? Some part of you reminds yourself that you misplaced your trust spectacularly this morning, and that feeling of overwhelming stupidity and regret washes over you. But even if you’re doubting yourself, you want to trust Sans, you want to believe in his sincerity. And the idea of being put to sleep with magic, instead of sitting with your head in your hands until morning, sounds so incredibly comforting...

He looks at you, and again you get that sense that he’s actually seeing you. "i wouldn’t usually offer. it’s overkill to use this just to put someone to sleep. it’s just, uh..." He shakes his head. "you look like you’re gonna break."

"I’m close to it," you admit, your voice low. "I trust you, Sans." 

"then get yourself ready to sleep."

You take a shower, letting the day wash away. There's dirt from your family’s graves underneath your fingernails... dried tears down your cheeks and salty crust at the corners of your eyes... the lingering traces of Jerren's cologne on your skin... Orion's dried saliva on your hands... probably Jerren’s saliva on your mouth and face, you think with disgust. Sweat underneath your armpits, behind your knees, at the nape of your neck, cold sweat from the moment you were certain you were going to die... Stephanson's spittle on your cheeks when he was screaming in your face... mud on your elbows, dust on your arms and legs and in your hair, eyelashes and eyebrows... traces of runny snot down your face, around your nostrils and on the back of your hand... dried blood on your hip and leg... salt and oil on your fingers and lips from the french fries... All of it sloughs off your body, as you scrub, scrub and scrub some more with the soap Sans bought you. Your limbs feel like they’re made of lead, and your head still throbs. You dry yourself off and put on your robe. The satin on your damp skin feels light and clean. Your whole soul hopes Sans can do what he says he can do, because you can’t take being conscious anymore.

You climb into bed. Sans is there already; he's moved the chair from the vanity next to the bed. "still want to try this?"

"God yes."

"then the last thing you oughta know is that i can’t hypnotize anyone who isn’t fully cooperating. if you change your mind, if you start thinking you don’t want to do it, that ends it. understand?"

You murmur agreement.

"alright. then i want ya to lay down.” 

You lay your head down, curling up on your side. "What will I owe you for this?" you ask quietly.

He leans forward, exhaling. "well... lemme ask you a question first. how much d’you think i’d usually charge someone for a bit of magic that can be repeatedly used to find listening devices in any room?”

"Uh... I dunno. Lots, probably. You’d tack on a dozen fees for that kind of thing, right?" You make an attempt to mimic his low, laid-back voice. "’you wanted it in the shape of a millipede and it took a long time to make all the little legs so i’m multiplying my base rate by a hundred.’ Like that, right?”

He chuckles. "well, you definitely understand how i set my fees. but in this case, you’re wrong. it’s a trick question. what i gave you, i wouldn’t sell it to anyone in new ebott for any money. it's too good for any of those assholes.”

You blink. "Oh.”

"i gave it to you so you won't torture yourself wondering if this guy is spying on you. i healed you because you were hurt. i’m putting you to sleep because you can’t do it yourself. now, if i see a chance to have a nice dinner with my girl i’m gonna take it, but...” He shakes his head. “don’t take me so literally all the time. you don’t owe me anything. you never did.”

It was your idea that you owed Sans something for any of this, you realize... he spent the whole night taking care of you, and he never actually was the one who suggested that you owed him anything at all. You're overwhelmed with gratitude towards him. "Thank you..."

He gestures dismissively. "'s really not that big a deal. ready?"

“Ready..."

He switches off the light. Just enough of the light from the street lamp outside filters through the blinds that you can still make him out. “look at me.” He leans forward, looking down at you. He closes one eye socket, and the light in the other one flashes blue, then yellow, much larger than its usual size. 

"Oh!" 

You flinch and draw away from him. He closes his eye.

"shhh. ‘s okay, kid. it’s just how my magic works. let me know when you’re ready to start.“

"I’m sorry, I, uh..." You take a deep breath. With his eyes closed he’s the Sans you know again... the Sans who is doing all this just to help you. "It just startled me. Uh... it doesn’t hurt or anything when your eye does that, does it?"

He considers this for a moment. "i wouldn’t exactly describe it that way. it’s a sign that i’m, uh, you could say i’m focusing my magic differently.”

"Oh... Well, I’m ready...”

He opens one eye socket, and you’re not sure if you actually are ready; you’re disoriented by the rapidly switching blue and yellow in his skull. Which is, of course, the point, you remind yourself. This will put you to sleep without all those memories of today crowding in on your mind— Sasha crying that she should have been able to save at least your father, Adaleia trying to stop the carriage’s wild driver and... Jerren, just everything about Jerren... You swallow and concentrate on the eye.

"i know 's a little hard to get used to. but haven't you ever sat an' watched a fire burning in a fireplace, late at night? imagine it's like that. a blue and yellow flickering fire made out of my magic. 's not so scary now, is it?"

His voice is soothing, wheedling almost, as if he's talking to a child. You murmur quiet agreement, focusing on the eye, imagining its edges blurring and flickering like a fire as the color changes, blue to yellow and back again. It's as if it truly is burning, deep within his skull, a bright blaze of magic...

"the first step is to calm your mind and body. the more relaxed you are, the more open you are to my magic, the quicker this is going to work. so all i want you to do is follow along with me, alright?"

"All right," you murmur.

"start with the space around you. you remember how i set up magical defenses in this apartment, right?"

"That’s why I came here.”

"in your mind’s eye, i want you to imagine what those defenses look like. maybe you like thinking of them as a brick wall, invisibly strengthening the walls and floor and ceiling. maybe you think of them like a stream of water constantly flowing through the building, shimmering under your feet and over your head. visualize whatever makes you feel most safe, then tell me what you see."

"I..." You let your mind skim over all sorts of comforting images. "It's kinda nice to think about it like vines growing on the walls," you murmur. "With so many leaves and flowers I can barely see the actual building underneath."

"i like that. as if this apartment is a hidden garden, and the leaves and vines grow so thick that it's impossible to see inside."

"I picture it all being blue and yellow, like your eye. Blue vines and leaves, yellow flowers."

"tell me 'bout the flowers." 

"Little delicate flowers, like yellow jasmine. They cluster all over the walls, and when they bloom they smell heavenly..."

"that's what i want you to imagine, then. lush, shining blue vines and leaves carpeting the floor, trailing up the sides of the room so thick you can't see the walls, forming a canopy over the ceiling. the vines are as strong as rope, the leaves are large and glossy, and the flowers make the whole room smell nice. and here you are in bed, surrounded by it all. kinda like sleeping beauty, right?"

"That's what I'm hoping for," you say with a smile.

"you'll get there. because you're safe here, protected by those vines. my magic runs all through them, surrounding you as you rest in bed. nothing can reach you here. the garden belongs to you, the flowers and their perfume are all for you, relaxing you as you breathe in and out." He's speaking in a slower cadence now, his voice a low drone. Every word sounds deliberate and comforting.

You breathe deeply, and even though there's no flowers you can almost smell their fragrance. You let out a small sigh of satisfaction as you focus on Sans' eye and picture the vines overrunning the room, creating a magical bower just for you.

"the bed is so soft, isn't it? the blankets warm you all through, the pillow supports your aching head, easing your pain. your robe is silky against your skin. you're comfortable... you're safe... and your body is starting to feel lighter and lighter as the warmth spreads all through you. your temples feel less tense as you unclench your jaw. you swallow, and your mouth feels less dry. you breathe through your nose, and out again. in, and out. in, and out. in, and out." Each repetition is a little slower, and you match your breathing to his instructions. 

"your shoulders drop, and the tension in your neck releases. you take a deep breath, and your chest expands. in.... and out. in... and out. in... and out. your heart beats slower and slower as your entire body calms down. you stretch your fingers out to the tips, reaching out as far as they will go. then release, letting them go limp. your belly expands with your breath, then softens. expands, then softens. you focus on the fire in my eye, and all the tension in your chest, all the worries, all the pain goes out with each breath. your hips feel loose, relaxed. your legs are light. you flex your toes, spreading each one out and stretching them. then they go limp. your whole body is relaxed now, warm and calm, comfortable in bed, surrounded by the vines and flowers. keep looking at the fire in my eye. you like it now, don't you?" You smile and murmur agreement.

He continues, the low drone of his voice increasingly slow. 

_you like the colors._

_you like the way it flickers and changes._

_your whole face feels relaxed when you look at it._

_your forehead is smooth._

_your eyelids blink._

_your cheeks are loose._

_your jaw is slack._

_you breathe... in..._

_and out._

_in..._

_and out._

_in... and out._

_your eyelids feel so heavy..._

_you want to keep watching the fire, but they just can't stay open._

_you can close them._

_it’s all right._

One last look at the glimmering eye, and you close your eyes. An afterimage of the fire in Sans' eye spreads through your mind's eye. The deep drone continues. 

_good girl._

_it feels so comfortable, doesn't it?_

_your eyes were so tired, but now they feel so good..._

_so relaxed._

_you breathe in..._

_and out._

_in..._

_and out._

_the fire is still there, keeping you company in the dark._

_you see it still, on the backs of your eyelids._

_your eyelids feel comfortable over your tired eyes._

_the blankets weigh heavily over your body, warming you all through._

_you breathe deeply as your mind becomes numb._

_my voice and the fire in my eye fill your skull._

Sans continues talking in his low, steady drone. You're still listening; you're still awake; but as he continues, it all seems increasingly far away. All you know is the flickering fire in Sans' eye, which seems to have expanded to fill your head just as it fills his. You're at perfect peace, feeling light and carefree.

Sans is asking you something. You respond. He nods, apparently satisfied with your answer.

Sans says something in a low voice. You hear him snap his fingers as if you're hearing it underwater, with the sound reverberating in dull circles through your head.

The perfect peace spreads through your whole body, filling you with the consciousness of safety, warmth, and unbearable fatigue. It's so good to have your eyes closed... it's so good to be resting in such a comfortable bed... it's so good to have Sans here, his magic protecting you, his hand smoothing down your hair...

You wake up the next morning with the tatters of a lovely dream rapidly vanishing. You were dancing— no, it’s gone, that’s all you remember. You sit up, stretching. You feel so refreshed... your head is fine, your body is completely healed... and when you remember the previous day, the memories hurt like a dull ache, not like the series of stabs they'd felt like the previous night. 

It's going to be a long day, you think with a grimace. If it was just you, you'd never go back up to the surface again... but poor Sasha is all alone up there, wracked with guilt and convinced her room is bugged. You've got the magic from Sans, you owe it to her to find out one way or another...

You forget all about your upcoming morning when you notice the notebook on your end table. It wasn't there before... You scramble for it and open it up.

Something falls from the pages into your lap. It's... a wishbone? You turn it around in your hands, looking at it quizzically before returning to the latest entry in the notebook.

\- kid,

\- i'm not going to tell you how to live your life. just remember what i said.

\- humans break these things for good luck, right? well, i'm throwing you a bone here. if you find yourself in a dangerous situation, break this. i'll come help you. 

\- i'm counting on you to use it wisely. but there are worse things than our cover being blown.

He's so worried about you that he's willing to come to you, anytime, even if it winds up exposing the connection he's gone to such trouble to keep hidden? You hold the wishbone to your heart and take a deep breath before you continue reading.

\- take the rest of the week off. i've got to rest too, anyway. just write me a note when you're ready to start meeting again.

Once again, you're filled with gratitude towards Sans. Well, yes, you have to admit to yourself, it's a little strange to feel grateful to someone because they're not insisting on you sticking to your agreement after you've been traumatized. Still, it's considerate of him. And he did so much for you yesterday... Your soul feels like it's glowing as you remember how he offered you his help, how he created that moth for you, how he healed you, how he helped you sleep...

You take up the pen and write back two words:

\- Thank you.

Yes... you do love this man. And whatever Jerren might think about the matter, you can't help but think that before too long, Sans will love you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally... after three weeks, dozens of sex acts, and one very, very, very long day, Sans looks at Reader, and something shifts in his mind. Until now, he's seen just another human who is appealing, amusing, intriguing but ultimately inconsequential... someone who, like him and everyone else in the world, is going to get reset away by and by. Tonight, he saw her as an individual.
> 
> Thirty-three chapters in, and this slow burn just got a wee bit golden and crispy on the edges.
> 
> The next chapter has Reader and Sasha trying to work through what the hell just happened to them... but after that, it's pretty much the Reader and Sans show for several chapters. 
> 
> shewolf drew [another amazing piece of fanart](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172213921900/the-shewolf-den-more-fan-art-for-apjfm-by#notes) for Chapter 32! It's Sans with his magical cigar, and the shimmery smoke and his weary expression are both just right. I love the detail in it... and the cute little bones. Thank you so much!
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com) and [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) for beta reading for me! I've also started working with [beaubartley](https://beaubartley.tumblr.com), who has been a big help with this chapter!
> 
> Come join me at <https://neroli9.tumblr.com> for APJFM chatter, fanart and so on.
> 
> I will eventually put a calendar to the end of this chapter in this space!


	34. we're going to get a happy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172537807735/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

You pull your hat low on your head and wrap a scarf around your neck before you slip out of the apartment foyer and into the taxi. So as to not arouse suspicion, you're still using the crutches, you're wearing black stockings to hide your mysteriously healed legs, and you've bandaged your wrist and ankle back up. How are you going to do this? How can you possibly leave the safety of the apartment and go into a world where Jerren might kidnap you, where Stefanson might arrest you, where everyone has guessed how you got your money? Jerren might have told the papers about you already, there could be reporters waiting for you, or following you, there might be a private investigator on your tail... You keep looking behind you. Is that black car following you? No, they're turning. But what if they're just trying to throw you off guard? They could easily catch up... Or while you're watching for them, another car could start following you. What about that person standing on the corner? Are they looking oddly at your car? Or are they just waiting for a chance to cross the street? What if the danger is coming from inside the car? What if Jerren paid off this taxi driver, and he's going to report back on your every move?

You want to stay in the apartment forever and ever. But poor Sasha is up there, alone and paranoid... You have to at least discover if there's a bug in her room, otherwise all that work Sans did for you will be wasted. As you sit in the back of the taxi, you open your purse and unzip the side pocket, so you can brush your fingers against the sphere he gave you. Oh, that helps... Yes, you have to check on Sasha, and you have to pay for her care. That money is hidden on your body, just in case someone steals your purse, that money you made from selling yourself and everyone knows it...

You arrive at the terminal without incident... somehow. Once you sit down on the aerial tram, the attendant hands you an envelope with your name on it in elegant handwriting. "There's a message for you, miss."

You feel a wave of nausea as it lands in your hand, and you drop it, as if you'd been handed a tarantula. You look down at the envelope blankly, feeling as if you might throw up all over it. Which is all the response a note from Jerren deserves.

"Miss?"

There might be something in it you need to know... Even if there isn't, even if he's simply written to insult you further, it can't be worse than what happened yesterday. It can't. It can't, because good God, what else could he possibly say to you? You will yourself to pick it back up and spend a minute staring at it, before daring to open it with shaking hands.

Jerren has written:

\- I apologize for my conduct yesterday. I went entirely too far. 

\- There is likely no way in which I could say this and have you believe it, but I want you to know that I will trouble you no more. I am not spying on you, eavesdropping on your conversations or otherwise interfering with your life or that of your sister. Nor will I do so in the future. I have also prevailed upon Stefanson to let the matter rest. And I will ensure your names and identities continue to stay out of the papers. Neither of you will ever see me again. You may be at peace.

\- I have replaced the pearl necklace, and no suspicion will fall on you or your friend. Believe this or not as you will, but if you do choose to believe it, or if you are able to verify my words, I hope you will take this action as a proof of my sincerity.

\- I wish you happiness.

Is he serious? Is this man fucking serious?

An apology, that's more than you got last time at least, though you don't take it in the least bit seriously... Because he's too goddamn right, you don't believe his bullshit! Manipulative wretch! Stefanson will probably be right at the top of the aerial tram to take you in for questioning... Be at peace, how could you, after yesterday? He doesn't know you've been healed, as far as he knows you're still in constant pain from everything he did to you! He wishes you happiness?! Asshole! Asshole, asshole, _asshole_!

Your thoughts are dark as you look over the message again and again, wondering what the hell kind of unbearable game this man is now playing. Why the hell did he even bother writing this? Wouldn't it be more fun for him to imagine you eaten up with paranoia and anxiety? Why did he put back the necklace, if indeed he even did? Wouldn't he just love exposing your friend as a thief, or even pinning the blame on you? How dare he say he wishes you happiness?! The only possible path to happiness you see this morning involves grievous injury visited on this man who preyed on your pain, stole a kiss from you and hurt you so willfully and callously...

Oh, you'd like to take a match to this piece of garbage, or tear it into little pieces and flush them down the toilet, ideally after shitting all over it... But it's undeniable proof that any of your fairytale day ever happened. You need to keep it... even if it feels like you're soiling your purse when you tuck it in there, right next to the sphere of magic Sans gave you. You fume all the way to the hospital, jumpy and scared all over again.

Sasha looks markedly worse this morning, with dark circles under her eyes and a murderous expression. Her eyes light up when she sees you, but she also looks guilty, as if she's a puppy who's just pooped on its beloved master's shoe. You go to her, giving her a big hug and a kiss. You at least had Sans for company, last night... Was she able to sleep, or did she pass the whole night hating herself for trusting Jerren and planning ways of assassinating him?

"I am so happy to see you," she whispers in a hoarse voice. 

Your heart feels heavy, and you take a deep breath, squeezing her tighter. "We're going to be okay, Sasha."

She laughs bitterly. "We can't even talk," she whispers. "That rat's listening to every word we say..." In a louder voice, she calls "That's right, I'm calling you a rat, you stinking filthy trash-gobbling rat!"

You smile wryly. "We're gonna find out for sure if he is or not." you whisper. She raises her eyebrows as you lock the door to her room and close the windows. As she watches curiously, you put your finger to your lips, smiling at her meaningfully, then take the sphere of magic out of your handbag. It's a tiny, portable bit of Sans' soul that he's shaped just for you, you think with a thrill as you give it a fond caress, then raise it to your lips and kiss it.

Sasha's jaw drops as the sphere unfurls graceful wings and antennae, which it gives a little shake. The moth flies out of your hand and low over the floor, from corner to corner and under the bed. It flutters around the room, making a thorough inspection of the bed, the nightstand, the medical equipment, the chair you sit in, the walls, the window, the ceiling, the door. Both you and Sasha watch its every move. Sasha looks flabbergasted, while you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. How amazing that man is! How sweet of him to make that for you! He wouldn't sell it to the richest gangster in New Ebott for any amount of money, but he gave it to you just to ease your mind, and asked only the pleasure of your company in return...

You realize you’ve forgotten something important as it returns to your hand and rolls back into a ball. "I was spacing out," you whisper. "Did you see it light up?"

"Did I... uh...? Was it... supposed to?" she whispers back, blinking.

"You didn't notice? I wasn't paying attention, either. Guess I'd better..." You kiss it again, and once more the moth makes its inspection of the room. Sasha watches blankly, but this time you pay careful attention to its movements. By the time the moth returns to your hand, gives its antennae a final shake and curls back up into a ball, it hasn't lit up once.

"Well, that's one good thing at least. The room isn't bugged," you say quietly.

"I'm confused," Sasha says, rubbing her eyes. "Did I just hallucinate you kissing a blue moth into existence? Twice?”

"It was real. It was a piece of monster magic used to help locate bugs. If there had been any, it would have lit up."

"Monster magic? And it didn't burn your hands off or anything?" Before you can answer, she catches herself and continues "No, that's obviously just a myth, isn't it?"

"See? Fine," you say, displaying both sides of your hands to her. 

"Huh..." Sasha considers this. "Can I see it?" You pass the sphere to her, and she rolls it around in her hands. "Wow. Uh, can I try?" The idea makes you feel strangely jealous, just for a moment -- you don't want anyone else kissing a fragment of Sans' soul! -- but it's not like there's anything there to be jealous of, she's just curious about how it works. You nod, and she kisses the sphere. Nothing happens.

"I guess it only works for me..." 

"Lucky you! So it was a bug-finding bug. Is that some sort of joke?"

You laugh. You'd been so stressed out, you didn't even think about it. "Probably!" 

"How the heck did you get it? Stepstool Man have monster friends?"

"I'll explain in a minute. We have to figure out our strategy, first," you say. Your heart is sinking... yes, you'll explain everything in a minute.

"Sure. So... there's no bug in here," Sasha says, pursing her lips. "That means there's only one way Jerren learned about Stepstool Man..." She folds her arms over her chest, glowering. "That slimy little worm is spying on you."

"I, uh..." You swallow. "I honestly don't think he is."

"How would you know? I mean, the whole point of having a private investigator following you is that you don't know they're there."

"Uh, well... This isn't why I think he's not spying on me, but start out with it." You hand her the note.

She starts to shake with rage as she reads it. "The piece of shit! The evil, backstabbing, pus-smeared sack of dog turds!"

"Not saying I disagree with a word you just said, but you might want to keep it a little quieter," you say in a low voice, smiling despite yourself.

She scowls. "They oughta know what he really is. But all right. I'll use my quietest voice to call him a--" Her voice drops to a whisper. "Poop-stuffed turkey from hell!" She brandishes the letter at you. "You don't believe this garbage, do you!?"

"If he told me the clouds were still there, I'd assume there'd been a miracle and they were gone," you grumble. "It is true that Stefanson wasn't waiting to arrest me... and it is true that we're not in the papers this morning... but that doesn't mean that Jerren isn't messing with me. Even if he’s completely sincere about everything he wrote, I still have to assume that everything he says and does has some awful purpose." You shrug. "I mostly just wanted you to read it so you know where things stand. That's not why I think he hasn't been spying on me."

"Why, then?"

You would rather not have this conversation... but if you had trusted Sasha from the start, maybe everything would have been different. "The thing is... there's one very important detail about Stepstool Man that Jerren doesn't know. Because if he had known, he would have thrown it in my face."

"What is it?"

"Uh..." You swallow. "The thing about Stepstool Man, it's that, um..."

"Spit it out."

"He's a monster."

Sasha goggles at you. "What? Oh my God. Gross."

You flinch, and guilt crosses her face as she realizes what she’s said. "Wait. That didn't come out right. Uh. How about 'wow'? Can we pretend I just said 'wow'? I mean, it's not like I have anything against monsters, it's just, uh, wow." She holds her hand to her forehead. "Crap. Sorry. No wonder you didn't want to tell me, huh?"

"It's all right," you say, although your throat feels tight. "I know what everyone says about... people like me."

"Everyone can go to hell," Sasha snaps. "I mean, he's a good guy right? You keep on saying he's a good guy, I believe you. So what he's a monster?! It could be worse! Could have been someone like Jerren -- someone who's just pretending to be a human! I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

She's talking too fast, anxious to smooth over her brutal first reaction. The comment hurt, but it's hard to hold it against her when she's trying so hard to walk it back. "It’s all right..." You exhale, slumping over.

"I get it now though," she says quietly. "Jerren can’t possibly know Stepstool Man’s identity, because if he did that jerkface would have rubbed it in. I mean, he even told you that’s what would end up happening to you, right? That you’d, uh...”

That you’d whore yourself out to monsters. "Yeah," you sigh, shaking your head. "Well, he was right. That’s how I met Stepstool Man."

She looks shocked as she realizes what you mean. "Uh... so it wasn’t just him?"

"No. I worked as a call girl in the monster districts for a week before he and I made our arrangement."

"Oh," she says in a small voice.

"I, uh... Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that much, but... I don't want to keep secrets from you anymore, Sasha. I think you wouldn’t have worried so much if you’d known the truth."

"Probably," she says, looking down. "I knew, um..." She gestures at the hospital room. "I knew most prostitutes don’t earn this kind of money, so what you were telling me didn't add up. And I kept thinking, what kind of deal did she really make to get it? What is she having to do? Who is she having to deal with?"

"Now you know." You look down, and tears come to your eyes. "I just didn’t want you to think I’m disgusting..."

"You, uh... you don’t think it’s disgusting, do you?" she asks in a whisper.

"No. I mean, it’s not something I ever expected to do with my life, but, uh...” You shrug, wiping your eyes. "Monsters don’t feel the same way about sex as humans. Stepstool Man was telling me last night, he found it really hard to understand why human men cared so much about their girlfriends ever having slept with someone else. And he doesn’t seem to think badly of me for being a call girl. To him it’s just my job. The other monsters I slept with were the same. A lot of human men would act like I was some sort of fallen woman, whether I was sleeping with humans or monsters." You scowl. "Like Jerren." He'd thought you were so pure, you can almost hear him saying. Who the hell asked him for his garbage opinion?

"Stupid weaselface Jerren," Sasha mumbles. 

"So... the answer is no. I mean... you’re right, what you said yesterday. I never wanted to have to sell myself, and God knows that’s not what I want for you. But I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done."

"Then why’d you think I would be?"

You fall silent. "I don’t know,” you say after a minute.

"I guess... it’s like you said yesterday. You wouldn’t have anything left if you didn’t have me," she says quietly.

"Yeah..."

She reaches for your hand. "I’ll always love you.”

You'd thought you were all cried out after yesterday, but no, you have a whole new round of ugly crying to do. "Jeez, it's not that surprising, is it?" Sasha says, patting your back as you wail. "I mean, of course I'm gonna love you."

"If -- if you hated me I just don't know what I'd do," you moan, wiping your eyes. Mascara comes off on the back of your hand -- why the hell did you wear it today? You should have known you'd wind up bawling...

"That would be stupid of me! I think you're brave. And, uh, if you like monsters --" Sasha's face reddens at this. "--uh, then you should go for it, and sleep with all the monsters you want, and if anyone has any problem with it they can take it up with me. Once I'm well enough to punch their stupid teeth down their throat, anyway."

You laugh and cry at the same time, snot bubbling out of your nose. "I, uh... I really just like the one monster..."

"Stepstool Man, huh..." Sasha leans back. "I guess he made the moth for you, right?"

"Yeah..."

"And he's a monster, but he works with humans?"

"Yeah. He's got all sorts of wonderful talents," you say, wiping your face and starting to talk with greater animation. "I mean, he can teleport, he can make things, he -- look, Sasha --" You flex your bandaged wrist back and forth. "I just did this so the nurses wouldn't get too suspicious, but see? Look, he healed me..."

Sasha's eyes widen. "He healed you?"

"My ankle too, and where I hit my hip, and the cuts on my legs, and the bruises on my arm!” You rub your forehead. "He even helped with my headache!"

“That’s amazing...”

“Yes, and he helped me get to sleep with his magic..."

Sasha scowls. "Wish you coulda sent him up here." She blinks. “Back up. Teleport?”

Your eyes light up. "Yes! It’s incredible, Sasha, he took me to the top of a building and he teleported me from the table to the couch just so I wouldn’t have to walk on my sprained ankle, and the other day he made it look like he was coming out of the refrigerator..."

Sasha permits herself a smile. "I have to admit that's impressive. But I still don’t like that he’s a gangster."

"Freelancer.”

"Whatever."

"He saved Baby Kitty."

Sasha gasps. "Oh my God! Really?” There's new-found respect in her eyes as she repeats "Oh my God."

"I think that’s a secret though. So don’t tell anyone.”

"I, uh, okay. Wow.” The impressed expression that crossed her face is soon replaced by the previous suspicion. “So he's a hero. He still needs to stop carrying a gun around you. Why’s he even need one anyway?”

"It’s an extra option. Like if he wants to cause a distraction, or maybe if using his magic would make it too obvious he was involved in something.”

"Involved in killing someone, you mean," she mutters. "But I’m not going to argue with you right now. ‘Cause we still have to figure something out. If the room isn’t bugged, and if Prince Maggot Butt doesn’t have someone spying on you, how did he know what he knew?"

"Uh... I’ve got a theory,” you say tentatively. “I don’t know what you’ll think about it, but...”

"Let’s hear it.”

"I sometimes think Jerren is like you. That he can see the future." Sasha looks struck by this, and frowns as you continue. "I used to think I was letting my imagination run away with me. But, uh..." You sigh. "I know it’s not impossible, because I believe in your abilities. If you can do it, maybe other people can too, and maybe some of them are even better than you, or have abilities that work differently. And I truly think that’s how he is. If you assume he has some kind of power, then everything about him makes more sense."

Sasha looks down. "I wish I could say that sounded crazy. But, uh..." She looks nauseated. "Holy crap... I think you’re right."

You can’t help but smile. "I didn't think you'd agree so easily."

"No, the thing is, uh..." She puts her head in her hands. "I can’t believe I was so stupid!" she mutters.

"You weren’t stupid, you were targeted," you remind her. "He has been a manipulative wretch for longer than you've been alive. Everything he did and said to you had a purpose, I’m sure of it. Don’t feel stupid." 

"But I am stupid!" she wails. "It was obvious all along and— and I just thought I was imagining things, or making too big a deal about coincidences..."

"What was obvious?"

"He, uh... I think being around him affects my predictions."

You breathe in sharply. "So I'm right!"

"I don't know, just... God, I'm so stupid... It's so obvious now..." She buries her head in her hands, then starts smacking her forehead with her fists.

"Tell me from the beginning," you say gently, moving her hands away from her head.

"Uh... Well, the first time was when I predicted he was going to ask about you, and he didn't. But I thought maybe I was wrong. I mean... sometimes my predictions, they're really clear, but most of the time they're not, and that was one that felt like... I dunno, maybe I could have been wrong. I mean, my predictions are wrong sometimes..."

Her predictions aren't wrong very often, but she has been known to make mistakes. You still remember her cheerful face, telling you that your debut as a chorus girl was going to go just fine... and then all the other girls hated you and you flashed the whole nightclub when the fastener on your outfit broke.

"And then he asked about you the next time I saw him, so I thought, oh, maybe I just predicted something that happened later," she continues. "But I don’t think I’ve ever had that happen before. I mean, it didn’t feel right somehow. Then, uh...” She looks down. “I’m so stupid,” she mutters.

"Then what?”

"I was talking with him and all of a sudden I had this feeling like—” She waves her arms around. “‘Run! Hide! Everybody panic!’ And I had no idea why. All I knew was that something really bad happened somewhere, or was about to happen. I thought maybe there might be an earthquake or something, but then I’m like, hey, I’m on the surface! But maybe it was happening underground? Jerren noticed I was acting weird and asked if I was okay, and I said sometimes the medicine made me feel funny. I figured I’d learn later on what happened, except..." She shrugs. "No earthquake. No nothing.”

"You think maybe your prediction was trying to warn you against him?"

"I do now. But at the time..." She shakes her head. "I mean, he was being so nice to me... I knew you didn't like him, but I didn't realize he was a complete sociopath." Her eyes narrow as she continues. "Then there was one more weird thing. When we were in the Courtyard, I got this vision of a dog biting Jerren’s hand. It was just for a split second, but it was perfectly clear. I was going to warn him, but when I turned around he was gone. Then a second later you're calling out to Orion. I hadn’t seen Orion for almost six years, but he was definitely the dog in my vision.”

"That’s bizarre...” You ponder this. “So maybe Jerren had the same vision you did. And instead of getting bitten, he avoided Orion?”

"That could be it..."

"Smart dog," you mutter. "I wish he had bitten Jerren. Maybe I would have taken the hint."

"Yeah. Even if it never happened, I keep thinking back on that vision, like... good boy, Orion! Get him! Get him! Just like this. Chomp!" she says with relish. She holds one hand as if it's a set of teeth and uses it to pretend to bite her other hand, demonstrating where the bite had landed.

"How about the prediction you had that you thought was related to our family? Do you think that was affected by Jerren at all?"

She swallows, her face covered in guilt. "Uh... well, that one... um..."

"What about it?"

"I made it up," she admits, hiding her face in her hands.

"You lied to me?"

"I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry," she cries, her shoulders shaking.

"You knew I’d be more likely to agree to his offer if I thought I’d already done it," you say slowly. That’s so incredibly devious that you have to pause and count to ten before you say anything else, because the first thing that you want to say is the thing that will hurt her most— that her plan was as manipulative as anything Jerren could come up with. But you only say "Did he put you up to that? Does he know about your predictions?"

"No," she says, looking miserable. "I told you that bringing you back to the Courtyard was my idea, right? When we were planning it out, he told me to try to get you in the right mood before he asked you. Make you think about our family and the old days, without making you feel unhappy. I told him I'd take care of it."

"But you didn't tell him exactly how?”

"'Course not. I mean, unless he had this room bugged, no one knows about my predictions but you. It's not like I was going to tell him, you know?"

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your forehead. "You two sure know how to play me."

She looks even more miserable. "I'm sorry... I really thought I was doing the right thing. I just wanted so badly for you to be safe and happy and not have to worry about anything ever again... and I just made everything so much worse!"

"He made everything worse," you snap. "I know you feel stupid, I feel stupid too, but he knew just how to use you to get what he wanted. It's not your fault."

"I made it so easy for him, though,” Sasha says bitterly. 

The two of you are quiet for a minute before you continue, "Well, so that's my theory. Jerren can see the future to some extent, or maybe get some sense about people. That's how he plays his little guessing games, that's how things always seem to go right for him. Maybe he had some vision of me with Stepstool Man, but his visions aren't perfect somehow..."

"Could be. It's far-fetched, but this whole situation is far-fetched, isn't it?"

"You got that right."

"Or it could also be that this room was bugged, but he removed the bug before you came this morning..."

"Maybe," you murmur, shuddering. "I did notice that his note didn’t rule that scenario out. I guess we won't ever really know..."

"I know he said we’d never see him again, but I actually wish I could see him one more time. I would love to tell him exactly what I think of him." Sasha scowls. "But he won't even give me that satisfaction. He quit volunteering.”

"Surprise, surprise," you grumble. 

"Told the director of the hospital he was going to be too busy, I heard. Too busy sitting with his thumb up his butt, probably.”

"Probably. He told me he wanted to do better, to use his position to help people... What a load of crap."

"That's what he told me too," Sasha says, scowling. "He made it all sound so admirable... See if I ever get taken in by some man again." She looks at you curiously. "Can you tell me what happened? I mean, I'm completely confused. Lunch went so well, then he invited you to walk, and then the next time I see the two of you he's turned into a demon..."

You take a deep breath, then launch into the story -- how the two of you had had a conversation and an adventure, how you'd started feeling more comfortable with him but ultimately hadn't been willing to put your future in his hands... and how he’d reacted. She gasps when you tell her about how he'd made you believe he was going to run you off the side of the surface, about how he’d toyed with you so cold-bloodedly. By the time you finish the story, she's got that nauseated look again. "I can't believe I ever trusted him," she mutters. "That worm-tongued snake!"

"I can't believe I did either," you say, smiling grimly. "I kept telling myself, this is stupid, this is stupid, the whole time I followed him in everything he wanted to do..."

"I see what you mean though, about how he makes people get carried away. I mean, now I think about it, when I was planning stuff out with him I sometimes felt like I was in a dream or something, or under some kind of spell..."

"Exactly! It's bizarre, isn't it?"

"And... I still don't get exactly what he wanted, or what he was thinking..."

"Boy, that makes two of us," you mutter. 

"I mean, he must be obsessed with you, right?"

"I, uh..." Your stomach turns, and you grimace. "That's what I think too. We know he started volunteering before we came along, and it could be that he was spooked by his father's health, or it could be that he had some sort of vision of us arriving at the hospital. Maybe he started to think of me as the key to making him a better man. I mean, he sounded sincere about admiring me and wanting to be friends again, and I can genuinely believe he's nervous about what his father's death is going to mean to him. Somehow, whether it was bugging this room or having a vision, he realized where my money came from. He wanted to save me and reward me... and then got furious when I wouldn't accept his help."

"And then so much for him being a better man."

You sigh. "Yeah. I seriously doubt he's going to keep his promise not to fight monsters anymore, or try to improve the New Ebott school system."

"You don't... uh..." She looks deeply skeptical, but she asks "You don't think you really could have made him a better man, do you?"

You raise an eyebrow. "You saw him, didn't you? I didn't even tell him no, I told him I wanted some time to think about it. But even just that much made him so mad I thought he'd kill us both. If he wants to be a better man, he's going to have to do it himself."

"Not gonna hold my breath," Sasha mutters darkly. "And now what are we supposed to do? I was thinking, I'm doing so much better, I'd probably survive even if I don't finish out the whole course of the treatments --"

"That is not an option."

"But you need to keep your head down, if he's obsessed with you," Sasha points out. "We both know you can't trust what he said in that note, and coming back up here every day makes you too vulnerable." You nod, your heart heavy. You’ve already gone through your options, and there’s only one. "So I should go back underground --"

"You're staying here until the treatments are over. You are getting well if it is the _last fucking thing I do_."

Sasha gasps. This is the first time you've ever dropped the F-bomb in conversation with her. She slumps down, and tears come to her eyes. "I’m not gonna win this one, am I?” she says in a whisper.

“I’m sorry, but... no.”

“Then you need to stay down there for a while. It's not safe for you to visit me."

You take a deep breath. "I know." Seeing her face, you hasten to add "It's not like it'll be forever. I'll give it a few weeks and see where things stand, you know?"

"It sure feels like forever," she mumbles, the tears spilling down her face.

You take her hand and squeeze it. "I know..."

She wipes away her tears, stiffening and doing her very best to put on a brave face. "So we gotta enjoy today, huh? If it's our last day for a while. You keep your head down, I'll get better, maybe Jerren will get kicked in the face by a horse. Everything's gonna be just fine."

"That's right," you say, wiping away your own tears. "I'm sorry, Sasha. You're going to be so lonely..."

"I can bear it," she says. "Come on, let's talk about something better. Uh... is it okay to ask what kind of monster Stepstool Man is?" 

You can't help but smile. "He's a skeleton monster. Like the one who helped us."

Her eyes light up. "Oh! Papyrus?"

Papyrus had been the name of the skeleton monster who had helped you and Sasha on the day you left the surface. Sasha had been convinced she was directing you the right way... How she had got the two of you so lost you wound up near district one, you’re still not sure.

She sighs with relief. "Thank God. I was worried he was, like, a dog or a spider or something." Both of which types of monster you've actually slept with, but there's no need to rush in with that detail right now. She continues, "A skeleton's human-shaped, at least. Uh, but... doesn't that feel... creepy? Like incredibly creepy?"

"A little, at first. But now, it's just... it's just how he is, you know?"

"Uh, I can't really say I know at all... I mean, uh, how does he even... uh... oh God I don't want to know let's just stop right there," she says, the words tumbling out in a rush. 

You laugh. "Good idea. I said no more secrets, but it’s probably better for some things to stay secret.”

"Yeah, if you tell me any of those kinds of secrets I’m going to stab my eardrums out with a thermometer. Changing the subject. Is he like Papyrus at all?"

"Not really. I mean, they don't look at all alike --"

"No kidding," she interrupts. "You would have needed a stepstool to kiss him."

"And personality-wise, I don't think they're very similar at all. I keep wondering if they're related, though."

She becomes even more animated. "Really? That'd be great! Because maybe then we could see Papyrus again, and say thank you --"

"It's not that simple," you say glumly, leaning forward in your seat. "Thing is... I don't know if they're related, but I do know that Stepstool Man had a brother who got killed by a human."

"Oh no! You don't think it was..." She swallows. "Not... not Papyrus..."

"I don't know for sure," you allow. "But... apparently there aren't too many skeleton monsters in the first place, and... well, we never did find him..."

You'd gone back and looked for Papyrus the day after you met him, and a couple more times after that, before winding up with Louie. Each time you'd been chased off by furious monsters.

"That doesn't mean anything," she insists. "The districts are huge, right? Or maybe, uh... maybe Stepstool Man has a lot of brothers?"

"Maybe... like I said, I really don't know...” It’s almost better not to know for sure... This way you can hope that the encouraging, exuberant skeleton you met all those years ago is still out there somewhere.

"Are you going to ask him?"

"Uh, well... We still don’t know each other that well, honestly...”

“True, it’s only been like a month, right?“

“Less than that. And, uh..." Jerren’s voice whispers, just a distraction, just a distraction— “Uh, I’m there to, you know, cheer him up and relax him. So I don’t want to be the one to bring it up first, because... Well, it sounds like losing his brother broke his heart.” 

"Oh, sure... You wouldn't want to spring it on him, like, hey! Having a nice night? Let’s talk about the worst day of your entire life!"

You grimace. "Exactly. I'm curious, of course, but I'm not going to push it. I mean, really, I just met the guy... I'm sure it'll come up eventually. If his brother was Papyrus though, I wouldn’t want him to feel like I’d been keeping secrets from him. So once he brings up his family, or his brother, I’ll ask if they’re related."

"Yeah, makes sense." She leans forward, resting her chin on her knees. "I hope it wasn't Papyrus. I mean, there's probably lots of other skeleton monsters, right?"

"That's the thing. They're not like bunny monsters or fire monsters... They're rare," you say uneasily. And that book had said their numbers had dropped by about half in recent years... It had occurred to you, that could possibly mean there had been two and there was now one.

"Oh."

"Do you remember if Papyrus mentioned a brother? I’ve been trying to remember, but so much happened that day, I can’t remember every bit of every conversation I had...”

"Hmm." She closes her eyes, frowning. "I don’t remember, honestly. But I’ll think about it,” she says after a minute. She opens her eyes, looking up at the ceiling. "Have you dreamed about him recently?”

"Not for a while, that I remember anyway."

"I see him in my dreams fairly often still... He was in my dreams the other night, actually." She smiles. "I like dreaming about someone who’s always so excited to see me."

"What were you doing in the dream?"

"It was one of those school dreams, where I was in a class I’d always skipped and there was a test that day. And in my dream Papyrus was the teacher, and he passed out the test but I couldn’t understand it. He tried to explain it to me and I couldn’t understand that either. Then he tried to take me to the principal. But I knew the principal was the tall man with the weird face, and I was scared. I woke up when the door to his office opened.”

"I don’t get how you know he’s tall and weird-looking when you never see him.”

"Dreams never make sense," she says, shrugging. She leans back, looking thoughtful.

The door opens. You jump -- is it him?! -- but it's the nurse walking through the door, not Jerren. Whew. She's the same one who helped you yesterday, and as she asks after your ankle, something your sister said goes through your mind: They ought to know what Jerren really is. Your instinct is to hide what's happened to you, to brush it all under the rug... but that hasn't helped you so far, and Sasha's safety is more important than your pride or shame. Everything in you resists this, but...

"Uh... I think you should know what happened yesterday," you tell the nurse in a quiet voice. Sasha raises her eyebrows as you continue "Because someone needs to look out for Sasha for a few weeks. I won't be able to come up here."

"What? Why not?" the nurse says, looking startled.

"Uh, you know how Jerren took us back to the Courtyard yesterday to visit our family's gravesite? Well, he, um..." You swallow. If this woman knows you were given a chance to return to the Courtyard for good -- a chance that rather a lot of people in New Ebott would kill for -- and you turned it down, she'll think you're crazy. If she knows that you turned it down in favor of prostituting yourself to a monster, she would literally detain you for a stay in the psychiatric ward. "He ended up making me an offer I wasn't comfortable with," you demur.

"And then he turned into a psycho when she turned him down," Sasha chimes in. "He sprained her wrist and pushed her out of the carriage!"

The nurse looks shocked. "Really? That nice young man?"

"That snake in the grass is more like it," Sasha snaps.

The nurse frowns, pondering this, and when she does speak she speaks slowly. "Prince Jerren, acting in such a way towards a woman... I must say I find it hard to believe of him."

"Is that hard to believe?" Sasha snaps, pointing at your wrist.

"I'm afraid it's the truth," you say, your heart sinking. You might have known she might be skeptical... Jerren's had a whole month to make a good impression on this woman.

"There must have been some misunderstanding. Of course he shouldn't have gotten physical, but..." She looks at you, her expression sympathetic. "Men in his position have to be carefully managed, dear. And, I do hate to say it, but I would guess that he feels like you led him on."

The muscles of your back and shoulders tighten, and you have to work to keep your voice even as you reply "You think I deserved it?"

"Well, no, just that he's quite a sensitive young man, and it does take two to tango," she answers in a voice so patronizing you're sorely tempted to smack her. Anger contorts Sasha's face as the nurse continues "And it's such a shame he stopped volunteering here. Of course, it's none of my business, but it seems --"

"You're quite right," you interrupt in your best ice queen voice -- before Sasha can say whatever she just opened her mouth to say. "It is a private matter. I only ask that he be barred from seeing Sasha, if he returns."

"Wait, I do want to see him," Sasha mutters darkly. "I want to see his insides with a scalpel."

"Whatever your opinions may be about the situation, Sasha's caretakers should know that I will not be able to visit for the foreseeable future, and he should not be allowed near her at all."

"My advice was kindly meant," the woman sniffs. "But I will pass all that on."

"You'll see it eventually, too," Sasha calls as she slips out of the room. "Prince Perfect isn't what he seems. You'll all see it soon!"

You look at her, frowning. "Prediction?"

She scowls. "I wish! I'd love to wipe that stupid, smarmy, smirk off her stupid, smarmy face. 'It takes two to tango' -- what a load of baloney! How could she even say that?!"

You sigh, slumping forward. "It's easier for her to assume I did something to deserve it than it is to admit she's wrong about what kind of person he is. That's all."

"That's garbage!"

"I know..."

Your experiment with being more open is having mixed results, you decide, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead. Sasha's initial first reaction to your confession still makes you cringe... but it's only what you'd expect from a girl who grew up in a world where "your mom sucks off dog monsters" is one of the worst insults you can throw at someone. She immediately changed her tune, and all in all, you're glad you were honest with her. And even if the nurse did seem to want to blame you for Jerren's poor sensitive hurt feelings and his quitting volunteering, at least she knows... at least she and Sasha's other caretakers will watch out for her, and hopefully keep Jerren away from your sister and any errant scalpels.

Sasha looks out the window, and you can see her angry expression reflected in the glass. Gradually it falls into despair, and she says in a low voice, "It's just not fair. Everything about this is completely unfair."

Poor Sasha... She must be really feeling beaten down, if she's talking like this. You take her hand as she looks back at you and continues "I just wanted everything to be all right for once. I wanted you to be happy and safe, for someone to take care of you like you always took care of me. But it's all gone to hell, and it's my fault -- I know, I know," she says quickly as you start to correct her. "It's his fault. But I took his side over yours, I lied to you, I pretended to fall asleep so he could spend time with you..." 

You smack your forehead. "You two really did plan it out, huh? Was Adaleia in on it, too?"

"No, Jerren said she'd probably fall asleep because she usually does, after she has a lot of peach wine..."

Your stomach lurches. "Uh... No, she doesn't." A frightening thought occurs to you. "Sasha... did you have any of that banana trifle?"

"No, I was so full I could barely eat half a slice of cake."

"Neither did I. I don't like bananas. Jerren had a bite... but she had two big bowls of it..."

"Holy crap," Sasha murmurs, her eyes widening. "Do you really think...? She said she felt weird after she woke up, like she had a headache..."

You swallow hard, feeling sick. "My God..."

"Do you think he drugged her just to get you alone?"

You lean forward, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. "He must have. It's too much of a coincidence otherwise."

"That's horrible... Yeah, you're not coming back up here again until I'm better," she decrees. "You have to hope he forgets all about you again."

"I'm just wondering about Ionathia, now..."

Sasha gasps. "Do you think he knocked her up?!"

You burst out laughing. "No, silly! No, I mean... When he was trying to get me to go with him to the concert, he said he'd expected at least one of my friends to be with us. And I'm wondering if maybe he planned to have Ionathia come with us, then to find some way to ditch her later..." You shake your head. "She may be incredibly lucky she had to leave early."

The two of you fall silent. Finally Sasha says, "And even if I got what I wanted, it probably would have been a disaster, right? We would have seen what Jerren really was eventually... and I would have hated living in the Courtyard. I didn't realize that until I went back."

"I think you would have hated it too," you say gently. "It would have felt very restrictive to you."

"That's what Adaleia said," she says, shaking her head. "We talked for a while, after she woke up. She was telling me how frustrated and bored she felt with her life, and how people looked down on her for being twenty-six and not married yet. I remember thinking, wait, is this what I'm signing myself up for?"

You smile wryly. "Yeah. It's hard for me to imagine you being happy up there. Addy told me she wished she'd come with us, and I can't help but wonder how she'd have ended up if she had."

"I just feel so lost now, though," she says, looking down at her hands. "I mean... this is going to sound so stupid, but... I used to pretend that we were in a fairytale. Like we were princesses, exiled from our castle, and we had to act like peasant girls to survive."

You smile fondly. This is a more romantic daydream than Sasha will usually admit to. "Princess Sasha, stirring split pea soup while her sister sews collars together..."

"Exactly," she says with a wry smile. "Then the story got horrible. Princess Sasha fell deathly ill, and to save her, her sister sacrificed herself to a short, murderous millionaire who had no idea about her true identity."

"Then Prince Charming came along..."

"And Little Princess Idiot swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker,” Sasha growls. "It turned out he was an evil demon straight from hell, and the castle they'd been dreaming about returning to was a cesspit, and all Princess Sasha did was make everything miserable for everyone."

"Hey... Sasha, listen to me." You take her hands. "We’re going to get through this, I promise. Because you know what?”

"What?" 

"The princesses don’t need the stinking prince. We don’t need the stinking castle.” This gets a grudging smile out of her. “We’ve got our brains. We’ve got our hands. We’ve got each other. And we’re going to get a happy ending.”

She clenches her jaw, clearly trying not to cry. "You’re right. Thank you."

There’s a knock at the door, and you jump. Not Jerren, is it Jerren, what will you do—

Sasha notices your distress, and she grimaces. "Who’s there?" she calls, her voice harsh.

"It’s me!" a high, feminine voice trills. 

Your eyes open wide. "Ionathia," you breathe, starting to smile.

Sasha looks suspicious still. "It’s just you right? Because if Prince Poopypants is out there he’s not coming in!”

"Just me," Ionathia reassures her, and a few seconds later she’s hugging you, tears in her eyes. "Adaleia told me the whole story! My _poor_ dear, you must have been _terrified_..."

"It's over now," you mumble, not wanting to dwell on yesterday more than you have to. "I'm surprised you were able to leave the Courtyard, though..."

"They couldn't very well stop me from accompanying my _husband_ ," she says proudly. "He was perfectly willing to take me with him to the hospital so I could check on _poor_ Sasha. And what luck to see you too! Addy will be so happy to hear I've seen you."

"Is she under house arrest?" Sasha asks. "She really told that porkbrain a thing or two..."

Ionathia's face falls. "I am not so sure she will _ever_ be leaving the house again. But you know our Addy. 'Tell them it was all worth it,' she said."

"We were lucky she was there," you say, shaking your head. "Stefanson wouldn't have let us go until he'd forced us to confess to some plot. I wish I could thank her, but... I can write her a note...” You take your notebook and write her a quick note while Sasha and Ionathia get into a discussion about whether or not Jerren can ever be redeemed. Although Ionathia is generally inclined towards forgiveness even she seems quite shaken by Jerren’s actions, all the more so when Sasha contributes her retelling of your experience -- minus some details, such as your deal with a gangster -- and shares your plan to stay underground for a while.

"It is all turning into _quite_ a scandal," Ionathia reports. "I’ve heard you broke into Rosamond Sallariti’s estate for the concert, and that you were seen riding with that man, and he looked positively wicked and you seemed frightened out of your wits, and that he broke your leg when he pushed you out of the carriage!”

So at least the story is circulating inside the Courtyard, even if it hasn't filtered to the Concourse as far as the hospital. "I just got banged up a bit," you say, shaking your head.

"As if that was nothing, instead of being an inexcusable cruelty! If he had any decency whatsoever he would have never have been able to do so much as consider such a thing. I was horribly mistaken about his character.” She shakes her head. "Well, I must say... I should _like_ to think all souls capable of redemption, but I should have to see some _very_ firm proof from him indeed!"

For Ionathia this is tantamount to proclaiming him dead to her.

"I’d like to see proof too," Sasha mutters. "He could start by ritually disemboweling himself in the arena. I’d buy ten tickets."

You finish your note to Adaleia and give it to Ionathia. Sasha watches, frowning. "I really feel sorry for her... She already hates it up here."

"It has been difficult for her," Ionathia murmurs. "But at least she wasn't actually arrested, just released into her parents' custody. I do hope they let her out to visit me when the baby is born...” She pats Sasha's hand. "I wish she could come visit you, too. And I am _so_ sorry your sister will be staying underground until this blows over. But I will come visit _every day,_ as long as I'm feeling up to it."

Both you and Sasha are desperate for distraction, for some relief after the emotional turmoil of the previous day; as if she had predicted this, Ionathia has brought several games and books for Sasha, and the three of you pass the rest of the day peacefully. The two of you amuse Sasha when she's awake and talk quietly with each other when she drifts off, carefully avoiding the subject of what happened yesterday. Ionathia claims she feels fine, as long as she's not smelling any food... so it's probably lucky that you don't have much of an appetite.

Shortly before visiting hours end, Ionathia leaves to meet her husband, promising Sasha plenty of future visits. When she's gone, Sasha hugs you tightly. "When do you think it's safe to come up again?"

"I think we'd better see how things go," you answer, sighing. "But we can write letters to each other..."

"Too insecure," she says immediately. "Jerren could intercept them and read every word we write."

You can't help but smile. "It really does feel like we're in a spy novel."

"He's dangerous," Sasha insists. "He's all twisted up inside, and he's obsessed with you. You probably shouldn't have even come up today... though I'm glad you did," she says, her expression softening.

"I couldn’t have just abandoned you," you say, patting her hand. "How about if I call you? You can use the phone in the waiting room on this floor, right?"

"He could be listening in. Or he could kidnap you, if he knows you go to the same phone booth every day."

"I've got my own phone, though. Stepstool Man had it installed at our meeting place. And if you don't hear from me, you're going to worry too much, aren't you?"

She leans back and sighs. "Yeah. All right, call me every day." She looks thoughtful for a moment, then continues, "I’m going to come up with a plan for if you stop calling, too. ’Cause that’d mean the worst has happened.”

You’re not really sure what she means by ‘a plan,’ but you do know what she means by ‘the worst.’ Well, maybe it’ll help her feel better, if there’s something concrete she thinks she can do. Having a plan to ponder and refine is surely better for her state of mind than spending hours fantasizing about rearranging Jerren's vital organs with a pair of tongs. "Good idea," you say.

"Let me keep the letter," she says, putting her hand out. "It’s evidence. Establishes a motive and a pattern of behavior. If something happened to you, I could prove he’s involved.”

She's so deadly serious you want to smile, but she'd feel insulted. And she wants Jerren's letter? Your first instinct is to say no, it’s safer with you... but everything would have been different if you’d trusted Sasha. So you hand it over with as much solemnity as if the two of you were spies handling state secrets.

"Thank you. I promise I’ll take care of you," she says, tucking it under her pillow. "And you promise to call every day as if your life depends on it. Because..." She pats her chest, looking resolute. "I'm your dead man's switch. If I don’t hear from you, I’m gonna raise hell."

"I promise. I'll usually call in the morning, but if you haven't heard from me by five o'clock at night, something's wrong. And we won't talk about anything important, just in case he is listening in... I'll just let you know I'm fine, and you can tell me how you're doing. All right?"

"Better than nothing," she grumbles.

"It won't be forever," you say gently.

"Feels like it," she whispers as she reaches for you and hugs you tightly. "Do you, uh... Do you really think we're going to get a happy ending?"

You kiss her on the cheek, hugging her back. "I do. Or I'm going to have some words with the author."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very information-dense chapter for you all, as we recover from the longest day. The great irony of this chapter is that if Reader had immediately told Sasha that Stepstool Man was a monster, Sasha probably wouldn't have worried so much; Sasha understood damn well that the kind of money Reader was earning from prostitution was unusual, and intuited that there was some unusual risk associated with it, which led directly to her conspiring with Jerren. This is not a story where the heroine's only flaw is, tee hee, she's so adorkably clumsy -- Reader's inability to trust even her sister got her into serious trouble.
> 
> Although Sasha is also right when she considers Sans too dangerous for her sister to be palling around with, so who knows, perhaps events would have unfolded the same way... There are a lot of people who would be very interested in knowing the identity of Dead Eyes' mistress.
> 
> And they remember the past, and an old friend... You all saw that coming, right? The first hint got dropped all the way back in Chapter 1. 
> 
> Chapter 35 is not yet finished, so I can't promise I will stick to the once a week schedule. I would be surprised if it's not posted within two weeks, and I like to think it won't take that long, I'm just not promising anything.
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com), [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) and [beaubartley](https://beaubartley.tumblr.com) for beta reading for me!
> 
> Come join me at <https://neroli9.tumblr.com> for updates on 35, fanart, thoughts on breastfeeding and other fun subjects!
> 
> I will eventually put a calendar to the end of this chapter in this space!


	35. a magical dildo and a farting dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last time on A Puzzle Just For Me...](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172742864125/last-time-on-a-puzzle-just-for-me)

It's not easy making your way back underground when you have to pretend that your ankle is still twisted, but eventually you're safely installed on the couch in the apartment you share with Sans. You take off the bandages, then sigh and lean back, closing your eyes. You still feel so jangled up after everything that happened yesterday... You veer wildly between feeling angry at Jerren, at Sasha, at yourself. But mostly at Jerren. Why did he have to get it in his head that you needed to be rewarded, that you needed to be put on a pedestal? What the hell did he mean when he said you don't know what you are to him? If you hadn't been scared out of your wits, perhaps you could have asked him. But now you'll never know, because God willing, you'll never see him again. Whatever illusions he had about you, he apparently saw shattered quite thoroughly. His damning assessments of you crash into your mind -- damaged goods, leftovers, little slut. You rub your forehead, cringing. At least you're here. Sans' magic protects you here, and you visualize it as the thick tangle of vines and leaves you'd envisioned with him, creating a hidden garden where you're safe from everyone, even from one of the most powerful men in New Ebott... 

What would happen if Jerren tried to get in? Would the glass resist breaking, if he swung a crowbar at it? Would the hinges of the doors stay put, if he took a screwdriver to them? If he smashed a wrecking ball into the side of the apartment, would the walls bounce back, cartoon-like? You trust Sans' abilities, but you wonder how even powerful magic holds up to construction equipment. Still, it's a pleasing image to imagine Jerren on a ladder, whacking away at the window and becoming more frustrated with every attempt. Then falling off the ladder and breaking his damn neck, ideally.

Well, here you are. Sans gave you the week off... Today is Sunday, October 1st, so that means he wouldn't expect to see you again before next Monday, the 9th. What the heck are you going to do with yourself for seven days? You're grateful for the opportunity to lay low and recover, but part of you can't help but think you'd feel better sooner if you spent a little more time with Sans. You'll take it one day at a time, you decide... there's nothing saying you can't suggest you meet him earlier, if you like.

He might have left you a new message, you realize, and the thought makes you jump off the couch and scramble for the notebook. 

\- you're welcome. 

\- feel free to stay here as much or as little as you like. is it going to bug you if i drop by at night to check the notebook? 

\- if you want anything i can get it for you.

You smile stupidly as you read it. He's being so kind to you.. and if you’re being honest, you like the idea of him dropping by at night very, very much. He'll gaze at you sleeping peacefully in his bed, wearing the robe he bought you, but he can’t touch you until you say you’re ready... The idea of Sans working himself into a state of arousal over you every night for a week and feeling acute frustration and longing makes you think that this could actually work out in your favor. If nothing else, when you’re ready to sleep with him again he’ll all but tear you apart.

Or he will just go find another woman for the week, you think with a jolt. It’s only you who promised not to have any other partners.

So much for your momentary good mood. You exhale as you reread the message, then pick up the pen and start writing back.

\- That's very kind of you, Sans. I would appreciate more monster food -- surprise me! (But I would particularly love more of those chocolate-cherry cookies and Nice Creams.)

\- You will probably see me here most nights, as my own apartment doesn't have magical defenses. What would happen if someone tried to break a window, or bash in a wall? I won't be in the least bothered by you, but I hope my presence will not be so frustrating to you that you look for comfort elsewhere this week. I'm sure I'll be ready to meet with you again soon, so please be patient with me!

That doesn't sound too pathetic and insecure, does it? Yeah, it does. You sigh, rereading the message. You shouldn’t have written the part about comfort elsewhere... but it’s written, and you weren’t smart enough to put it on a new page so you can’t tear it out. You put the notebook back down and flop backwards on the bed.

What a life.

When it's time for bed, you try to lull yourself to sleep with a story, borrowing Sasha’s framework. The princess in disguise sold herself to a cruel monster, but he turned out to be so much kinder than his reputation, forbidding appearance and manner indicated, and the princess fell in love with—

You think you’re in Beauty and the Beast, but you’re actually in Bluebeard, Jerren had said. Was it a warning? If he had some sort of future sight, did he see the man who’d bought you hurting you or revealing some horrible secret that would break your heart? Or did he, like Sasha, simply believe that spending enough time with a gangster would almost certainly lead to your death? That pompous creep doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does, you think with a surge of anger. Maybe he was just trying to scare you, or he was bluffing. Sans spent hours yesterday healing you, keeping you company, telling you about his work...

... because he wanted to find out who hurt you so he could kill them. You shiver. True, he did offer to come up with a non-lethal solution, but it clearly wouldn't be his preference. That's a little more Bluebeard than Prince Charming, you must admit.

But he accepted your refusal. He didn't like it -- even a day later it is disturbing to remember the anger that crossed his face -- and he tried to change your mind, but he could have pushed it a lot more than he did. In the end he made the decision to trust you, and to offer help if you needed it. That's about as good an outcome as you could have hoped for. If you put yourself in his shoes, you can start to understand how he feels. What if you were in the habit of shooting people, and then someone did to Sasha what Jerren did to you? Oh, they’d be lucky to arrive in the afterlife with a recognizable face! And although you and Sans don't have anything like the bond you and Sasha do, still it's natural that he'd want to protect you, if only because he owns you and perhaps he feels that a move against his girl is a move against him. 

You lay awake in bed for some time, ruminating over everything that happened yesterday... thinking about your family, your friends, Jerren and Sans. By and by, your thoughts turn to that blue and yellow eye, to Sans’ low, quiet voice crafting a vision of a hidden garden, to the otherworldly feeling of perfect peace. Before you get to the part where he told you to close your eyes, they’re already closed, and it’s not long before you’re asleep.

When you wake up on Monday morning, you reach for the notebook before even stretching and rubbing your eyes, and you're rewarded by a reply.

\- done. if there's anything else you want, just ask. as far as i'm concerned you don't have to leave the apartment if you don't want to.

\- essentially, the protection is an invisible box surrounding the apartment that only you and i can pass through. so if someone shot a bullet through the window, the glass would break, but the glass and bullet would fall to the outside of the building, and it would still be impossible to enter through the window. you can test it, if you like. open a window, then try to throw something out of it.

\- i'm a monster, not an animal. i can wait.

Your gut clenches with embarrassment as you read the last line. Did you offend him? Oh, you shouldn't have written anything... but you do feel relieved to have this reassurance that even if he doesn't formally owe you anything, he won't abandon you as quickly as that. Yes, you're cringing... but already, you're fantasizing about how best to use your week to drive Sans wild. 

You wrap your robe more tightly around your body and go to the window, opening it with no difficulty. But when you try to toss a bit of crumpled up paper from the notebook out the window, it simply bounces back. Your fingers go through... your fingers holding the paper go through... but the paper on its own bounces back. That's an impressive bit of safeguarding! Now your pleasing vision of Jerren on a ladder with a crowbar is improved by envisioning him breaking the glass, showering himself in tiny shards that slice his skin as they fall, then putting out his hand to try to climb in... and his hand slips on the magical barrier, and he falls to the ground, his spine snapping in two as broken glass embeds itself into his skin.

In the kitchen are more bags of monster food, ready to be put away. Oh, the Nice Creams got all soft, but they should be fine once you freeze them again... You can't help smiling, looking at everything Sans bought for you. He really is trying to take care of you, isn't he? Perhaps he figures that the less time you spend outside the apartment, the less chance there is that you'll run into the man who hurt you.

You return to the notebook and consider your answer. Does he mean it, that he'd get anything you wanted? You can't resist testing that...

\- Thank you for the food! And it is so kind of you to offer to get me other things, too. If you really wouldn't mind, there is one thing I'd like: a silver chain, so I can wear the wishbone you gave me around my neck. (Under my clothes, of course. As a pendant, it would be rather eye-catching.) I have it in my handbag right now, but I'll feel much more secure if it's easier to reach.

\- The protection is amazing! I'm so lucky to be able to go to such a safe place. Thank you.

You'd better not say anything about that last part. You cringe with embarrassment just thinking about it. Instead you write:

\- I hope that you are resting well. I deeply appreciate how you healed me and helped me get to sleep, and I am sorry it should have had this sort of cost to you. Please take care of yourself, too.

Your first order of business is your phone call to Sasha. You nibble half-heartedly on some toast as you get put through to the hospital, then wait for the call to be set up and your sister to be brought to the waiting room phone. It takes a while, and you're glad that you handle the phone bill, not Sans... you can shuffle some money around to cover the extra expense of calling up to the Concourse. But it's worth it to hear her voice, to reassure her that you got back underground and survived the night. As neither of you feel safe enough to talk about anything meaningful, it's a short call. You're left feeling frustrated that that's the best you can do for her, and that Ionathia is up there in your place.

Well... there's your communication with other living beings done for the day. Because there's no damn way you're leaving the apartment. You get the magic sphere Sans gave you out of your handbag and lay back on the bed, then kiss the moth into existence. It flutters around the room, searching for something you already know doesn't exist. You almost wish you could see it find something -- wouldn't the moth look so pretty all lit up? Maybe it would shake its antennae, or do a little flappy dance or something. Instead it flies underneath the bed, behind the vanity, even in the closet, then back to you to curl back up into a ball. Well, why not? You kiss it again, sending it on a second journey. Then a third, as you rest with your hands under your head, following its every move, remembering the moment he entrusted you with it. 

Sans can't tell you're doing this... can he? He didn't say one way or another. Now you're curious... and a little embarrassed. You add another line to the notebook:

\- The bug finding bug worked perfectly -- thank you. I was just being paranoid, after all, but I'm paranoid enough to want to keep it for now, if you don't mind. Just out of curiosity, can you tell when I've activated it? Does my using it drain you at all?

You flop back down on the bed and sigh. Well... now what? 

Some doodling might make you feel better. You start by caricaturing Jerren as a cruel demon and drawing sections of the palace gardens, then setting them on fire with the orange and yellow colored pencils. A stick-figure Jerren and his horse ride merrily off the side of the surface, yelling "Wheee!" while a stick-figure you with a big smile leans over the side and waves farewell. You add a speech balloon, making the stick-figure you say "Burn in hell, you scumbag!" You add a pit of hell at the bottom of Jerren's trajectory, with little stick-figure demons who want nothing more than to stab his squishy bits with pitchforks forever.

You turn the page. Sasha throws a pie in his face, knocking him backward, and you render the generous globules of custard in loving detail then add a great big pile of manure right under his ass, with plenty of stink lines and flies. An anvil hovers overhead, tied to the top of the page by a rope rapidly fraying in the middle. Damaged goods, leftovers... who fucking asked him? You'll show him, that piece of shit! You turn the page and start sketching Jerren doubled over in agony as you kick him right in the fucking balls. You add some spikes to your shoes for good measure. Tears stream from his eyes, and blood is pouring from his crotch, pooling at his feet -- you sharpen your red colored pencil once, twice, three times before the area looks painful enough to satisfy you. You add Sasha to the picture too, bringing a baseball bat crashing down on his head so hard it breaks in two. The baseball bat, not the head... although that's not a bad idea either, and you add a crack to his skull as if it's an egg, then draw an ornate crown splitting in two and falling off his head. He thinks Sans is just humoring you, acting like you're an artist? Maybe this isn't the most artistic work you've ever done, but as far as you're concerned it's illustration gold, it's a work of genius now and forever.

After several drawings in this vein, you sit back and admire your work. Oh, torturing Jerren in effigy does make you feel better! You will have to mail the pages to your sister, she will howl with laughter, then start laughing all over again at how the drawings will shock Ionathia. And if Jerren does intercept her mail, then that will give him something to look at! Of course, that would involve leaving the apartment. You don't have any stamps on hand. You'd have to go back to your place, or to the post office. And it's scary out there. You shudder and start drawing Jerren being shot out of a cannon, through the clouds and right into the sun.

It takes a long time for you to tire of this little act of revenge. You are feeling rather cheerful, until a new thought strikes you. How pathetic, drawing flames and blood as a substitute for justice that you'll never have. He used your sister, he manipulated your love for your family, he insulted, terrified and abused you and he got away with every bit of it! There will be no reckoning for that man, no punishment. He’ll go on to the next poor woman, leaving you and Sasha traumatized, and none of your drawings will ever have the force of true punishment or bring the smallest censure of his cruelty. Tears come to your eyes, and your jaw clenches. It’s unfair! It’s so goddamn unfair...

This is familiar territory for you. You had the same discussions with yourself after you left the surface, about how Jerren was a worthless snake in the grass and how he’d acted like your friend, only to try to take advantage of you. There was no justice then, and there’ll be no justice now. The only thing that ever really helped was to have a good cry and come up with some choice new names for him. How about a slimy, scum-sucking walking talking pile of pig shit? 

After that good cry, you curl up on the couch with some tea and manage to lose yourself in a murder mystery, only occasionally thinking that it would be improved if the victim was a charismatic prince. Later that day, you return to your sketchbook. You had been planning on making yourself a new dancing dress, and you even bought a pattern you liked, but then Sasha got sick... Well, now you have plenty of time to work on it. You sketch out the dress in different colors, add different ornaments, picture it in different fabrics... What would Sans like? It’s not as if he’s going to take you dancing, but... well, stranger things have happened, most of them yesterday. So what would make you look extra alluring? Light blue with flowers at the neck? White chiffon with an antique gold ornament? Dusty rose with an extra ruffle at the hem? The same basic pattern comes to life twenty times as you wonder how best to delight Sans' eyes.

Next you start another book, reading it as you eat a simple dinner that mostly consists of chocolate-cherry cookies. By the time you're done, it’s getting late, but it’s not bedtime yet. How about working on your next puzzle for Sans? It beats lying in bed and pondering your failures. You think a word search would be nice this time... an absurdly large one, something he can’t cheat on! You start coming up with clues, jotting them all down in your notebook, then copying them to your sketchbook in tiny letters and filling in other letters around them. Funny how a lot of the clues happen to be backward and diagonal, you think, cackling with glee. One clue doesn’t show up in the world search, and that one starts with the second letter of your name. Let him cheat on that! Tomorrow you’ll give it some polish, turn a nice puzzle into something he will really remember... but for now you put yourself to bed. Again, the process involves lots of lying awake, thinking about your mistakes and everything you could have done differently. You always knew Jerren was a manipulative wretch, why did you let yourself get taken in, how could you have been so stupid... 

Well, there’s one thing to look forward to: Sans will write back to you overnight. Which means Sans will be in this room with you as you sleep... You roll onto your side and slip the sleeve of your robe down just a little, baring your collarbone and the curve of your shoulder. Scandalous, you think with a smile. Thinking about Sans helps you drift off to sleep, as you picture him sitting by your side, lulling you into a hypnotic state.

Tuesday morning you wake up with that ache in your abdomen that means you have about a three hour grace period before you're curled up with a hot water bottle. Lucky you. But before you start dealing with your period, you just have to know if Sans has written back... You reach for the notebook, and when you open it a silver chain slithers out onto your lap. Oh! He really did it! You run it through your fingers, beaming.

\- let me know if the chain works for you. i don’t know much about this kind of thing. anything else? i want you to be comfortable.

\- the barrier against physical penetration is only half of what i have set up. there’s also a sort of alarm system, so for example if anyone tried to force the door or break the window i would sense it. you don't have to worry about a thing while you’re here.

\- i’m fine now, thanks. it was more effort than i usually make at one time, but i wasn’t anywhere near being drained. that’s never happened and i doubt it ever will.

\- glad to hear that critter did its job for you. keep it as long as you like. activating it doesn’t alert or affect me, make it flap around all day if it pleases you.

\- i made you something.

There’s an arrow indicating for you to turn the page.

Oh! 

Sans made you a word search!

They’re all monster themed words: soul, CORE, puzzles, etc. There’s also a little doodle of him running after a hopping Froggit. As he said, he's not much of an artist, but it's cartoony and cute. You beam and kiss the page. He did this just to cheer you up, you know it!

As much as you're dying to do your puzzle, your first task is to make sure you don't get blood all over the apartment. The first day of your period is always debilitating: you bleed heavily and your cramps make you miserable. You heartily thank your past self for thinking ahead far enough to stash everything you'd need over here, just in case... because Sans might be willing to bring you a silver chain, but you just don't have the guts to ask him to bring you a belt, a box of pads and special leakproof panties. How much does Sans know about menstruation, anyway? You ponder this while you adjust the cumbersome belt around your waist and put the thick pad in place. If he's ever had a relationship with a woman that went beyond superficial, he might have some idea of it... but if he's only ever slept with prostitutes or had one-night stands, he might not even know it's a thing human women do. Ah, blessed ignorance, you think as you put on the dreadful, uncomfortable fitted underpants that help keep the belt in place and blood off your clothes. 

Once you're dressed, you retrieve your wishbone and tie it onto the chain, then put it around your neck, unbuttoning your blouse so it can rest against your skin. Perfect, you think as you admire yourself in the mirror. If you’re out and about— whenever that day may come— it’ll slip nicely underneath your clothes, and in an emergency it would be easy to break. It looks so sexy against your skin, a piece of your master's soul bound around your neck. If Sans could see you right now, he might forget he’d given you the week off... and you're not ready to sleep with him, especially not now that your cramps are getting stronger, but in the abstract, the idea seems more appealing than it had even just yesterday.

After you down some painkillers, you can finally work on the puzzle; you finish it in no time, then write:

\- I loved the puzzle! Thank you so much for making it for me! But it's no fair -- my next puzzle for you is a word search too, and now it's going to look like I was copying you. Well, mine is a lot harder than yours! So watch out, you dirty cheat! 

Does that sound too harsh? Nah, the last time you called him a dirty cheat he was in the process of getting you off, so you think he'll take it in the spirit it's intended. 

You aren’t ready to leave your cozy little nest, so you also write:

\- The chain is just right, thank you! I will wear my wishbone whenever I leave the apartment. Would you be so kind as to get me some stamps?

\- I really appreciate everything you're doing for me. Thank you, Sans!

You have your morning check-in with Sasha; she reports that Ionathia has been pretty good company, although about half of her conversation has to do with baby names, or nursery decor, or other such subjects that don't exactly captivate your sister. But your friend does play a mean game of Roses and Kings, for which Sasha will forgive a great many sins.

Afterwards you have some cookies and doodle some more, but when you start to sketch another grisly fate for Jerren, you find your heart really isn't in it... cartoonish bloodletting is a bad substitute for justice, and the painkillers only partially muted the feeling of your uterus trying to turn itself inside out. You curl up on the couch with your hot water bottle against your tummy, listening to music. Well, what else are you doing today besides feeling sorry for yourself? It's not like you wanted to go outside... Not when reporters might pounce, or Stefanson's men could catch you and bring you up for that interrogation.

Or maybe Jerren himself would find you. He said he'd never left the surface, but that doesn't mean anything. He could have been lying, or he could start anytime. There's even a dedicated tram from the Courtyard that goes underground, referred to only obliquely among Courtyard women because it's mostly used by men looking for a more exciting nightlife than what the Courtyard has to offer. He could be down here in fifteen minutes, and if he had been spying on you, or if he can track you somehow with his second sight, he could find you. He could stake out the apartment until you left, Sans would wait for a reply that never came and Sasha would test out whatever plan she's been devising...

You shudder. Sure, you can't stay here forever. But you can certainly stay here for now. You try to take your mind off your physical and mental pain by reading for a little while, then you sketch some more dresses and choose your favorite three. White, plum and pink, with different decorations for each one... White is for purity, Jerren whispers to you, and you flinch and scribble out the design. Plum or pink, then. The pattern creates a dress that looks sophisticated and elegant... plum works better, you think, with an antique silver design at the throat. Yes, that's good. Now you just have to bring yourself to go buy the fabric... then take it back to your apartment and sew...

Or you could read some more. That sounds good too.

You go back to your murder mystery, but you keep getting distracted by your regrets and fears. If only you'd stuck to your answer the first time, when Jerren had invited you back to the Courtyard! Yes, it helped your heart to go back to your family's graves, and Sasha's too you think... but was it worth the price you paid? You go back and forth on the question, you can't decide if it was or not, but maybe it would have gone differently if you had refused lunch, if you had insisted on leaving right afterward, or if you had told him you would stay in the Courtyard with him then changed your mind as soon as you were back with other people, or if you had opted not to go on that walk, or -- how could you have been so stupid -- if you had never got in that carriage, or if you'd been able to do anything besides freezing up and apologizing... You alternately read and reproach yourself.

Finally, you put your book to the side, looking dolefully at the door. You can't really go two days in a row without leaving the apartment... Keep it up too long, and you're not too sure you'll ever leave again.

This actually doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. You indulge in a pleasant daydream where you remain safe here indefinitely. Every night your mysterious monster lover pulls the covers off of you and uses you as you squirm under him, half asleep... and when you wake up in the morning, your vulva still slick with his cum, he’s left you cookies, some new books and a puzzle.

You must be feeling better if that daydream activates the familiar charge deep within yourself. Even if you're not really ready to actually face Sans... and even if your period is making you miserable... it's still comforting to imagine sleeping with him, for his touches and kisses to erase Jerren's and leave you feeling safe and satisfied.

But for now, you really should at least take a step out of the apartment. Although it isn't bad to imagine being Sans' kept woman in every possible sense of the word, you know you'll feel better once you go outside and absolutely nothing happens.

You go outside and absolutely nothing happens. You walk down to the newsstand and back, and before you know it you're back on the couch with your newspaper, breathing as heavily as if you've just run all the way downtown. Fuck you, Jerren. You did it. And you have a newspaper! And you're not in it! See, that was not so bad...

You'll send those sketches to Sasha tomorrow, so tonight you write her a note to go with them, encouraging her to stay strong. Once you're done, you turn the envelope around in your hands a few times. Each time, leaving will get easier...

For now, you have a little more time to kill before bed, and you channel your nervous energy into finishing your puzzle, decorating it with an outer space themed pattern along the edges. It glitters with comets and stars, fantastic planets made of colorful, swirling gas, a spaceship piloted by a little cartoon version of Sans and a tiny moon with a little cartoon version of yourself on it, planting the New Ebott flag and waving.

It's past ten when you're done. You look at the completed puzzle with satisfaction. Yes, this is a good way of saying thank you to Sans. And... maybe tonight, you'll open your robe just a little bit more, you'll expose your throat and the swell of your breast to his gaze as you sleep... and you'll be sure your blankets cover your lower half, so he only sees the appealing top half and doesn't notice that the bottom half is wearing two sets of leakproof panties and a blood-soaked pad as thick as a phone book. It gives you a thrill to imagine Sans in the apartment at night, increasingly aroused as he looms over his unsuspecting human... and then being distracted by finding the puzzle you made him. You turn it over and write on the back.

\- There's one word that doesn't appear in the word search. That word begins with the next letter you want. Good luck cheating on this one!

You don't fall asleep easily, as your cramps are pretty bad, and your brain seems to think this is such a good opportunity to remember every mistake you've ever made in your life! But when you picture Sans finding your puzzle and searching for each word, his shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows and that serious expression on his face, your mind feels calm. Once your painkillers kick in, you fall asleep designing the next puzzle in your head.

Wednesday morning, Sans has slipped a book of stamps into the notebook. He's also finished the puzzle -- again, using tracing paper so as to not mess up your drawing -- and written the letter in the back of the notebook. He's written:

\- that word search was out of this universe -- you're a star. looking forward to #3.

Oh my God that's too cute! You hug the notebook, beaming. 

\- you sure you don't need anything else? you don't get lonely at night, sweetheart?

You feel your cheeks heat up. What's that supposed to mean? Who are you kidding, you know exactly what he’s implying. After some thought you pick up the pen, giggling, and... are you really going to write this? Oh, you're writing it...

\- You are a brazen, bawdy bunch of bones. And if you are offering to make me a magic dildo I am not going to say no.

You seriously wrote that! You reread it, your face burning. Well... how could you possibly say no to a magic dildo? 

The question preoccupies you as you wait for the call with Sasha to be set up, and you're more than a little flustered as you check in with her. "Everything's.... all right, isn't it?" she asks, and you hurry to assure her that you're fine... just thinking about someone. Her dry "Uh huh" in response gives no detail away to anyone who might be eavesdropping on the conversation, but to you it speaks volumes.

Connecting with your sister bolsters your courage. Your flow is still heavy but you're feeling less crampy, so you're going to brave the outside world again... and although your heart rate picks up when you set foot outside the apartment, you manage to make it to the mailbox without incident, then go so far as to get a newspaper and eat breakfast at a nearby cafe. Once again, no news of you or your recent adventures has made it into the underground papers... Maybe Jerren really means it, that he'll keep shielding you in this way.

Or maybe he's just waiting for the right moment to expose you, part of you whispers. You shudder and eat the rest of your pancakes without hardly tasting them. 

You're tempted to retreat to the apartment, but what would you do there? Read some more, draw some more bad things happening to Jerren? Well, Jerren can fuck off! You aren't going to abandon your life just because of him. No, you stick to your plan and go back to your own apartment.

It's been a while, you think as you look around. When was the last time you were back here? You count off days. It's been a whole week... It's strange to realize you're spending so much time at the apartment that you'd expected would be nothing more than a place to have sex. But it's better that way... It breaks your heart to see so many traces of your sister here when you're not able to go up to the surface and spend time with her. A surge of anger runs through you. It's not enough for Jerren to ruin your peace of mind, he has to keep you away from Sasha when she needs you, too? 

You've brought your sketchbook, and you add your leaves and the rubbing from the gravestone to your books of clippings and notes about your family. It'd be nice to keep them with you, but wondering if Sans is ever going to find them makes you too twitchy. For now it's enough to have them in your own apartment, and you breathe silent thanks that they didn't get soaked during your misadventure with Jerren... He almost certainly set you up, you think with a scowl. The gardener was probably in on it from the beginning, there was probably no danger at all, no reason to be running so haphazardly that you twisted your ankle... Feeling angry all over again, you pick up the pattern for your new dress, then walk over to Gracie's boarding house.

Luckily, Gracie is home this morning, wearing a housedress and doing chores. She's delighted to see you, and is excited to sew with you. The first step is to adjust the pattern to your own measurements and make a test version from cheap fabric, and as the two of you embark on this process you rearrange your story for her consumption. There was a guy you used to know, he was interested in you but you never really felt the same way. He caught up with you, got you thinking about the old days, talked you into a date somehow. Then things went downhill when you rejected him... he insulted you, pushed you around and acted like he owned you. Now you worry he's stalking you...

Gracie hangs on to every word of your story, and she's as fervent about condemning Jerren as you could possibly wish. "He sounds like a sneaky little rat of a man!" she exclaims, waving the scissors around and snapping them open and closed, as if she's fully prepared to cut off his balls. "A perfect wretch! I would be terrified if I was you! Shall I tell Jack about him, and have him handle it for you? A little chat with some of his men would sort this creep _right_ out!"

"I, uh... I'm really starting to think he's going to leave me alone... I hadn't seen him in years before all this happened, and he said he never wanted to see me again," you say weakly. "But if he bothers me again, maybe..." If that happens, you'll be going to Sans, not Jack, and although that'd open up a can of worms you'd prefer stay closed, it still eases your mind to know you have that option available to you.

Gracie seems to think that the best way to improve your mood is to share all of her wedding planning with you, but luckily she's not wrong -- listening to the minute details of flowers, guest lists and cake tasting takes your mind off your situation quite well. Although your own dreams of marrying Sans seem all the more far away... just a distraction, just a piece of ass, Jerren's voice echoes in your head. What does he know, anyway? Sans has been taking such good care of you... but that doesn't mean he's ever going to quit freelancing and put your relationship on a different footing... You drift off, lost in thought as Gracie chatters away and pins the test garment around you.

The finished muslin looks fantastic, and putting it on makes you fantasize about how the real dress will feel. The delicate fabric will skim over your hips and swirls around your legs, the plum color will make you look like a million bucks, and the whole thing will look just right when someone -- who are you kidding? When Sans takes you in his arms and glides with you over the dance floor. In your imagination he holds you closer and closer, and you lose yourselves in music and motion until you've danced your way into your own private world, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, his hand closed over yours... That is never, ever, _ever_ going to happen, Jerren's voice whispers to you. What the hell does he know, you counter. You and Gracie ooh and aah over your work, and you twirl around, feeling the pinned-together skirt flow over your legs. 

Later, you pick up some more non-magical food, a couple of magazines, then some new books from the library. By the time you're back to the apartment, you feel like a new woman. Jerren can go fuck himself, you decide. It's not the first time you've had the thought, but it's the first time you feel so confident about it. You're going to get on with your life. Maybe in a couple of weeks you can visit Sasha, then eventually she'll be well enough that you can bring her back down here. Then you'll never even worry about seeing that shithead again! No, it'll just be you, Sasha... and Sans... 

You find yourself smiling as you think of Sans. You'd taken your wishbone off before sewing with Gracie, but you have it back around your neck now, and you caress it fondly. What should you make for your third puzzle? You give it some thought as you make dinner, then take a nice long bath and read one of your movie magazines. You bought this one purely because it claimed to hold the love secrets of one of your favorite stars, Daisy Wilson, and if you’re really going to try to convince Sans to marry you and give up freelancing, you'll take all the help you can get. Her great advice -- that you didn't really need to pay the ten cents for -- is that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. What are you supposed to do when your man has neither heart nor stomach? You sigh. Well, the advice still holds... Sans might really enjoy a good meal. He did say he wouldn't pass up the chance to have dinner with his girl... Sure, you're not much of a cook, but anyone can learn, right? You start pondering your options as you relax in the tub. God, this feels good... warm, relaxing, secure... and orgasms do sometimes help your cramps feel better... Being surrounded by water is actually a little like having Sans' magic covering you, and you slip your hands over your body, feeling that familiar slick warmth in your cunt. Oh, you're starting to miss that man... Is he really going to make you a magic dildo? You could use one right now, but you don't need it. You imagine his hands over your body as you cup your breasts in your hands, as you rub the nipples --

\-- and your mind goes back to that moment where Jerren kissed you. It kills your arousal, and you shudder, feeling dirty even as you're immersed in bubbly water. You take a deep breath. Manipulative slime! He's probably killing some poor monsters right now -- he never intended to keep that promise, you're sure. You wanted to think the best of him, and just look how he repaid your kindness...

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, you think to yourself. Instead, you force yourself to think of Sans... Sans spanking you, Sans with his hand on your throat, Sans grunting as his cum fills your cunt... You feel yourself relaxing again, you luxuriate in the warm water, enjoying the softness of your own body and --

\-- and you remember Jerren's finger on your lips, that moment where you were startled by your attraction to him, when you could imagine him spanking you even if you could never imagine loving him...

You shudder. The memory of that man seems to have frozen your sex drive, at least for right now. You give up on getting yourself off for the night, stepping carefully out of the tub and drying yourself off. Instead, you think of the third puzzle... a logic puzzle, perhaps. Planning it out occupies your mind long enough for you to get to sleep.

Thursday morning, you reach for the notebook. Sans has replied.

\- a magic dildo? you dirty girl. the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. i was thinking about something entirely innocent -- what's your favorite animal?

You scoff. Oh sure, you believe _that_. You give the matter some thought. Right now, you're feeling very affectionate about Orion, who -- at least in one version of the future -- bit the hell out of Jerren's hand. So you write:

\- I don't in the least believe you were thinking of something else. But I'll play along. I’m particularly fond of beagle dogs.

You pause there. Is there anything else you want to say? You're starting to think you'd like to see him. He gave you the week off, but... Well, there's tomorrow, then Saturday and Sunday are your days off, so assuming you want to take the whole week, the next time you'd see him would be Monday. Three more days with no Sans... It feels lonely. And he's been so sweet to you! All you wanted was the food, the chain and the stamps, but he'd have clearly have gotten you more. You can't help but wonder how far you could push it, if you want. Sans, I want a sewing machine? Sans, I want a piano? Sans, I want a string quartet to play next to my bed while I fall asleep? 

You think you could be happy to see him, without your memories of trauma intruding... and you think you could sleep with him, without having to fake a smile and distract yourself by redecorating the bedroom in your head. On the contrary, you bet you could lose yourself in sex with him, and for once this whole horrible week, things might feel right...

Well, you don't have to decide right now -- he won't check the notebook until tonight.

After calling Sasha you leave the apartment with barely any trepidation at all, you buy a newspaper and scan for news of yourself without breaking out into a cold sweat, and you select and buy your fabric without once thinking of Jerren. You bring it back to your own apartment, as you have to get used to the idea of being in places where there's no magical protection, but you don't feel nearly so vulnerable here as you did the other day. First you wash and iron your fabric; after this tedious process, you start cutting out pieces for your dress. You're able to concentrate, and again, you barely think of your horrible experience the previous weekend... although your mind does wander onto the subject of Sans several times while you're preparing the fabric. What's he been doing, all this week? How long did it take him to recover? Did he think about you as much as you thought about him? Has he noticed how you've been teasing him? Is he getting impatient with you, or bored of you? Would he have dinner with you, if you asked him? And if so, what would you make him? It'd have to be monster food, of course, and you've eaten more than your fair share of monster sweets, but you've never tried to cook with it...

In the late afternoon, you return to the apartment where you meet Sans. There, you do some sketches for your idea for the third puzzle. Yes, this will be lots of fun... Next time you see Sans, you'll give him the third puzzle, you'll blow his mind in bed, you'll invite him to have dinner with you... oh, it'll be the perfect way to welcome him back. And when will that be? Do you really want to wait until Monday? On one hand, it'd be three more days of teasing the hell out of him, and that has its own benefits. On the other hand, you’re dying to see him... to see the delight on his face when he sees your puzzle, to kiss his skull and feel the comforting presence of his bones, to thank him for giving you this place where you can feel safe... You're still on your period, but the first two days are the worst; today you don't even have any cramps, and by tomorrow evening your flow will be light enough that you doubt it'll be an issue either way.

Yes, it's settled. You take the notebook and write:

\- I'm ready to return to our arrangement. And I'd like to see you tomorrow, if you have time. 

You fall asleep with a smile on your lips... and your robe untied. If you're still lying on your side when he gets here, then your breasts will still be arrayed beautifully, exposed to his gaze in the perfect pose of sexy vulnerability... What a pity you'll be asleep, and unable to see if your efforts are working!

Friday morning, there are two items on the nightstand next to the notebook. Oh my God -- Sans made you a blue, cuddly stuffed beagle dog. It's clearly made from his magic, but it's got a fuzzy, squishy stuffed feeling to it. And it's so incredibly cute! He really did a great job on it, you think as you turn it around in your hands and inspect it. You give it a big hug... and it produces a loud, wet fart noise. You laugh out loud and make it fart again and again. What a way to cheer you up! You put it down with reluctance, but you're curious about the other item. It's a blue cylinder, maybe about the size of a child's building block. You turn it around in your hands, squinting at it. What's this about? You reach for the notebook. 

\- see? i made you a perfectly innocent puppy dog.

\- as for the other thing i made you... did you try giving it a kiss yet?

Oh, of course. You bring the cylinder to your lips, then squeal and fumble it, dropping it in your lap as it expands rapidly in size. It's turned into a dildo! You pick it up and inspect it, giggling as you run your fingers over the tip and down the shaft. It's the size of his cock, the larger one he fucks you with not the smaller one he makes for you to suck him off. 

Sans seriously made you a magical dildo and a farting dog. If you didn't love this man before, you do now.

He's written:

\- if you are going to request that i form a piece of my soul specifically for your pleasure, i am not going to say no. 

\- it's a neat little bit of work actually. it essentially recreates itself every time you activate it -- that is, it's self-cleaning. and no, i can't feel it when you use it. the idea was tempting but i can't have you distracting me during a job. so get yourself off twenty times a day if you like, i don't mind. wink.

You feel blood rise to your cheeks as you read this. Come to think of it... you haven't had an orgasm since he finished your first puzzle. And... did he seriously just write 'wink'? You giggle. What a goof.

\- i'll be here at the usual time. and believe me, i'm looking forward to it... you little tease.

You swallow hard, a burst of arousal spreading through your belly. Ooh... he noticed, huh? Not that you were exactly being subtle. And now you're going to get it... You glance at the dildo, tempted to use it here and now. But it's only fair to save all of your pent-up sexual energy for this man you've been wantonly and deliberately teasing for nearly a week.

In the morning, you call Sasha, who reports news from Ionathia: she saw the pearl necklace Adaleia stole around the neck of its rightful owner, who was apparently none the wiser as to its disappearance. Just like Jerren said... Although you aren't ready to take this as proof of his sincerity, as he'd requested, you can give him credit for it... it might only make up for about one ten-thousandth of the garbage he put you through, but you can give him credit all the same. Afterward, you go out for a walk -- just because you can, fuck you Jerren -- and you buy a newspaper, then get some hot chocolate. 

The cafe is buzzing with excited chatter, and you soon find out why: There's an article on the front page of the paper reporting that there's a huge, week-long Clearnight festival being held on the surface later this month. There'll be music, food, games, sports competitions, dancing, masquerades, storytelling, free performances of plays, pretty much anything a person could want from a festival... and the interesting part is that it's not just limited to people on the surface. No, there's a massive lottery for people underground to win passes, so that all week long thousands of lucky winners can participate in contests, enjoy free entertainment and see the surface for themselves.

Clearnight is a popular underground holiday. On the night of October 22, underground New Ebott goes wild, as children and adults alike dress up in outlandish ways and make noise to scare away the clouds. Just because Clearnight has never resulted in the clouds lightening one bit doesn't mean that people don't love it. It's not usually celebrated on the surface, as the clouds don't bother Concourse or Courtyard residents. However, according to the article, the president of one of the newer corps on the surface is personally sponsoring and directing this festival. He had been born and raised underground, and wished to celebrate his success by sharing it with those who couldn't usually see the sky themselves.

Maybe that would be good cover for you to go see Sasha, if the surface is crowded with more people than usual... And maybe you'll get a chance to see the festivities yourself. After all, the rest of the paper has the usual collection of vice raids, gangster squabbles and fake Courtyard gossip, but not a word about you, or about what really happened last week.

Perhaps you truly have seen the last of Jerren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After spending ten chapters on one day, it feels dizzying to cover Sunday night through Friday morning! But Reader just wasn't ready to plunge back into action, either of the story-advancing kind or the between-the-sheets kind. It didn't help that she got her period... and for those of you wondering what she's talking about when she narrates putting on a belt and leakproof panties, you can look at [this blog post](https://anadaday.wordpress.com/2009/12/18/vintage-friday-menstruation-necessities-from-the-1930s/) about the kind of gear she had to use during that time of the month.
> 
> Chapter 36 is my bridge between this rewritten Courtyard arc and the rest of the story that I've written already... unfortunately it's largely unwritten! I think it's highly likely you'll see it within a month; I know how it goes, and it's mostly just sex and conversation. So stay tuned and I'll post an update or two on my tumblr.
> 
> I have some more beautiful fanart to share! First, [beaubartley](https://beaubartley.tumblr.com) shares two pictures of her adorable Reader: [Reader practices dance steps](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172552685290/beaubartley-you-burn-up-some-time-by-turning) and [Reader gazes on the moth Sans made](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172574298385/beaubartley-how-amazing-that-man-is-how-sweet). Isn't that a cute Reader? (I say as someone with pale skin and brown hair myself... I may be biased.) And beaubartley always draws the best clothes for her! Sans just totally does not stand a chance. :) Then, two more pictures from [theskimpyminion](http://theskimpyminion.tumblr.com): [Jerren and Sans fighting over Reader](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172594701505/theskimpyminion-apjfm-fan-art-sketch-with-sans) and [Sans helping Reader fall asleep](https://neroli9.tumblr.com/post/172620343325/theskimpyminion-sweet-dreams-more-apjfm-fan). The expressions in the first one are really great, Jerren's face especially really captures that manic, you-don't-know-how-truly-screwed-up-I-am look... while Sans just has this look like, I've entirely run out of patience with the anomaly's bullshit. And the second one is a scene that I love, and I'm so happy to see fanart of it -- and still impressed by all the little leaves!
> 
> Thanks as always to [peonylanterns](archiveofourown.org/users/peonylanterns), [zeroiha](https://plsdontkinkshameme.tumblr.com), [kenyaketchup](archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup) and [beaubartley](https://beaubartley.tumblr.com) for beta reading for me!
> 
> Come join me at <https://neroli9.tumblr.com>, because sometime soon I will get good and buzzed and answer sex questions, following [nihilismpastry's](http://nihilismpastry.tumblr.com) brilliant example.
> 
> I will eventually put a calendar to the end of this chapter in this space!


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